Protagonista (or No harm ever came from reading a book)
by Swamy
Summary: "She blinks, amused, reading the name of the main character and decides that this might just be what she needed to pass the time and enjoy herself. Maybe. If the writing doesn't suck too bad. If the plot is not too asinine."
1. Chapter 1

**Note:** I usually like my angst, but we've had enough of drama and heartbreak (and more is about to come, I suppose, though in other stories) so I tried to start something new and lighthearted. I hope I can keep my muse with this one, and that you find it something of your liking. The opening song of this story is "Oh Na Na" by Katie Herzing. I'm definitly out of my depth with this so I hope you will take the time to review.

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 _You eyes are like a blue sky, blue sky, blue_  
 _You're floating in the fountain, in the fountain of youth_  
 _I bet you have an ocean, secret little potion_  
 _I bet you have a lover who's as fine as you_

 _Hey Mr. Love, Mr. Big Love, Big Love_

She hears the front door of the Salvatore boarding house closing behind her as she takes the stairs, the fast pace of her jogging does not slow down as she jumps the steps up to the second floor. Bonnie pulls at the earphone's wire, letting one of them fall upon her shoulder, the clip secured at the neck of her coral wrap knit crop top. One hand flies to the base of her neck to massage the sore muscles. The skin is covered with a sheer of perspiration but she feels wonderful. She needed this. She needed to release the stress, find an outlet for all the worrying and the catching up she had to do before she could be satisfied and enjoy her well-deserved spring break.

Damon insisted it was useless, even pitiful to spend her mid-term at her dorm, or worse, in her lonely house, and he's become a bit of a hassle since the accident with Tyler. He's hostile towards him and the only way for him to cut it out – whenever she tells him to stop behaving like an ass – is to leave. Not that they were such good buddies before, but Damon's protectiveness now extends to anyone breathing her way and sometimes it can get in the way of her poor social life. But not for Caroline, she's totally onboard with Damon's plan to live all happily together under the same roof – Bonnie suspects that the fact that she can't live full time with the twins has only made her need her more but she can't fault her for that – and her friend already planning dinners and brunches and outings and a few promising parties. Bonnie will do it all, because she's got a few years to fill up with as many good things as possible, since who's to know how many years she gets? Damon could accidentally suffocate her with all his fussing, she thinks as her plump lips curve into a smile.

She's almost reached her bedroom when she hears the bell from the front door. Bonnie sighs, throwing her head back with a pained noise – the amazing shower jet of her private bathroom is calling to her but she's alone right now and so she turns around and surrenders to her fate.

She hopes whoever is at the door will have the decency to not grimace at the way she looks right now because it's totally their fault. There are stains of sweat under her breasts and on her back, and she probably stinks a bit. She wants to take that shower _so_ bad.

The boy at the door barely steals a glance to her. Maybe two glances. But he doesn't look disgusted. He's tan, in his thirties, and he's wearing the blue and violet clothes of the FedEx delivery service.

"Good morning, Miss," he says, lowering his eyes to the folder in his hand, "Bennett?" he asks. She sees the card with his name dangling from his neck but she doesn't try and read the name.

"That's me, yes."

"I have a package for you," he explains, and he's so fit she could almost swear this is the beginning of a porn movie. When he turns around to go to the delivery truck she shakes her head, blaming the thought on Damon's bad influence. He's clearly rubbing off on her. In a totally platonic way.

The delivery guy is in front of her seconds later, handing her the brownish box of an Amazon package.

"Thanks," she says with a smile, rushing back inside. She had totally forgotten about the order she'd placed. It must be a good sign. She's letting go of all the tiny things she tries to control every day. She has purchased a few interesting titles she was eager to get her hands on, but right now that shower jet is more tempting.

She shakes the package as she enters her room, the way she did when she was little and she couldn't wait to know what there was inside the prettily wrapped package she had gotten for Christmas or her birthday. She's used to the place enough to consider it her own, even before the accident with Tyler and Damon's Kevin Costner mode she used to crash there often.

Bonnie falls sitting onto her bed and looks around for something to cut the azure stripe before remembering the finely engraved dagger under her pillow. Not exactly the most romantic gift she's ever received, but she won't hold it against Damon. She loves the fluttery monogram, after all.

Inside the box there is _Witchcraft Medicine: Healing Arts, Shamanic Practices, and Forbidden Plants_ , then _Celtic_ _Tree Magic: Ogham Lore and Druid Mysteries_ , and _The Roles We Play,_ a title she actually picked from a list of recommendations for a course she's taking. Only, she realizes, as she's putting the books away, it's not what she ordered in the first place. If memory serves her well, the cover was in powder blue with a few wooden masks on it, and the title was something like _The Masks We Wear_ , or something like that, instead this one looks oddly like a romance novel, the kind you read if you're bored lying under the beach umbrella.

She'll take that shower in a minute. She just needs to check the order she placed. Turning on her laptop Bonnie is satisfied to see she's not the one that got it wrong. She's never used _the Help & Customer Service_ page before, but there's a first time for everything: _If you placed an order but received the wrong item, you can return the wrong item for a refund or a replacement of the item you did not receive through the_ _Online Returns Center_ _by selecting the_ ** _Wrong item was sent_** _reason._ It's easy _._ But it's not, because the connection won't hold up and she gets tired trying to return the damn book. Whatever, who cares? The book she actually ordered seemed something that could make her fall asleep by the third line of the preface, anyway.

She's actually starting to feel the chill so she closes the laptop and goes to the bathroom. She'll be more patient and proactive after getting the smell of sweat off her. She's so eager to feel the water on her skin she begins undressing as soon as she stands up from her bed, letting the clothes fall along the way. Damon would be so unbearable about this, she knows, but this is her room and she can do as she damn well pleases – meet Damon Salvatore, Vampire, Badass and anal housekeeper.

The shower gel smells like freshly baked Homemade Honey Buns and it's divine, so yummy and utterly irresistible that she stands under the shower longer then she should. She leaves the bathroom in a cloud of delicious steam that follows her around the bedroom.

The laptop is still on the nightstand, and the book she's supposed to return is abandoned on the bed. She accidentally wets a page when she pushes it away and she's vaguely annoyed. Bonnie keeps the towel wrapped about herself, pressing a hand on her breast to secure it and tries again to initiate the procedure to return the book. She throws a look at the book cover noticing the skin color of the girl on top of it. It's out of curiosity that she decides to check the reviews for it. She might be more selective then her bestie but she's always tempted to give it a chance when she finds a book with a black girl on its cover. It's not like it happens _that_ often.

Damon on the other hand will try just about anything – pretty much like he does with his one night stands – she's seen him reading Fifty Shades of Grey 'til the last page before he labeled it as utter crap and a total waste of earthly resources. For being someone that likes alcohol and parties as much as he does, one would never know the amount of stuff he reads. She hates that he's got good the looks _and_ the brain, because he knows he does and it makes him only more insufferable.

The book has been published only a few months before. The summary is quite short: _New York Times bestselling author S. Koning returns with a book that leaves you with more than you asked for. Bonnie has worked hard and she's made her passion her job, cutting herself a tiny role in the cinema industry, working as assistant, the kind of job that won't put her in the spotlight, won't give her a chance to doubt herself or leave the comfort zone of what she likes most, the buzzing activity of movie sets. She has the life she chose, but maybe not the life she wants._

She blinks, amused, reading the name of the main character and decides that this might just be what she needed to pass the time and enjoy herself. Maybe. If the writing doesn't suck too bad. If the plot is not too asinine.

Bonnie scrolls down the web page to read the Top Customers Reviews. The great majority are quite enthusiastic, with a five-star average review.

 _Maybe it's because I didn't go into it with great expectations that I actually was pleasantly surprised_ – one writes _– it's a very nice book, that doesn't try to be more than a romance and yet manages to be much more. The author is gifted, I daresay, and I liked the style very much. I thought this was going to be just a book for frustrated women looking to be spanked by some good-looking face with a short vocabulary, instead it's about personal growth (and some very hot sex)._

The following review is very short and to the point: _I came for the sex (pun totally intended) I stayed for the love._

 _This is not my first time reading a S. Koning book –_ the third user writes – _but this is by far the one I liked the most._ _The way she writes is so fluid that its basically seamless._ _She's gotten better with time, and the characters are so real, have such chemistry that I just cannot fathom that they are not real. I'm in love with them and their palpable connection._

Then come a few, very in depth reviews and she skips most of them to not spoil her reading. A few focus on the leading character, a few on the romance, but there's a general approval of the book. She's already sold on it, so she sends a request for a partial refund and starts picking some fresh clothes from her drawer, before picking up the sweaty clothes scattered on the floor.

There's a ring behind her, coming from the top of her dresser. Bonnie rolls her eyes. She doesn't bother to say "Hello" when she answers the call, "I bet you felt a disturbance in the force," she says sarcastically. "I'll have you know that I am tidying up right now, though you'd do it better."

"Of course. Italians do it better," he says. The innuendo doesn't go unnoticed and she rolls her eyes again.

"I don't think we're talking about the same thing here," she replies, sitting heavily on the bed. It bounces her up and down, like a kid playing.

"We totally should, then" he decides, "But I didn't call to talk about your laziness with chores–"

"I'm not the one who's lazy. _You're_ the one who's anal," and she knows the error she made as soon as the word leaves her mouth. She shuts her eyes making a pained face. "Don't," she rushes to add, "Don't even say it. Just don't."

And she can hear him chuckling on the other side.

"You're so adorable. Are you blushing just thinking about how I could respond to that?" he asks "Are you?" the tone makes him sound like a kid pestering his parent for more candies.

"Of course not," she lies, the skin of her cheeks hurting from the sudden rise in temperature and the general, unavoidable embarrassment he likes so much to put her through. "Anyway, why did you call?" she asks, a bit annoyed at him.

"Don't bite me, _yet,_ " toning down the innuendo, but not giving up on it completely, "I just wanted to tell you I'm running late–"

"We didn't have any plans," she objects, sounding disinterested. They didn't have any plans but she had taken for granted he would be around, after all he was the one that insisted on her living in his house. What was the point of it if he wasn't there?

"–and I know you're gonna miss me so bad–"

"You wish," she protests, trying to not let him hear the smile in her voice.

"–that I thought it would be nice to let you know that I'm only neglecting you in the name of brotherhood and a splendid vintage car. You should see it, Bon. Such a body, hard and beautiful–"

"Are we sure we're talking about a car?" she asks, squinting a bit at his description.

"Are you jealous?"

"Are you delirious?" she replies, not missing a beat.

She can hear Stefan's voice in the background, telling him to stop bothering her.

"Don't mind him, he doesn't get our special bond," Damon says, dramatically.

"I don't either," she answers, dripping with sarcasm.

"You're so shy," he says, sounding moved, "We can go out tonight so I can try and remedy all that I'm cruelly depriving you of."

"You mean peacefulness and serenity?" she questions, "That would require you to shut up for at least a couple of hours. Can you do that?"

"We can have a staring contest. Whoever laughs first loses."

"Nope," he's so stupid, he'd manage to make her crack and proceed to rub his victory in her face all night long.

"Someone is scared… we should set a prize," he piques on the other side of the phone.

"No game, no prize."

"No fun."

"Then go out with someone else."

He just ignores the suggestion and continues, "Then I'll sit in front of you and catch up on my reading. You can just stare at me all night long, 'til your heart's content. I'm used to women staring."

"You'll have to take two chairs, your ego takes a lot of space," but, sadly, that's far from being false. Wherever they go, girls stare at him and elbow each other in the sides to _subtly_ signal his presence. He walks around like he's just stepped out of your wildest fantasy. That's something that was difficult to accept for her in the past, refusing to admit such an asshole could be attractive to the point of making fools out of every girl out there, but now he's her best friend, and if not to him, at least to herself she must admit it. He's gorgeous to look at. Though not for her, of course, because they are friends and there are boundaries she has no trouble not crossing.

Because of Elena, and because of so many reasons, and because she doesn't see him like that at all.

"Suggestion duly noted. See you tonight, Bon-Bon."

"Later, Damon."

She stares at the phone in her hand with a smile. His silliness always lightens her heart, and sometimes it feels so strange to realize that, in between all the people that crossed her path, invaded her safe spaces, he's the only one that can manage to make her live her life the way a girl of her age should. A little bit recklessly, a little bit happily.

She lets herself fall back on the bed. Turning her head she sees the book the website wrongly sent her. Damon's comment about catching up on his reading pushes her to pick it up and flip through it with a quick movement of her slender fingers. At first glance, the style doesn't seem bad at all, but she can hardly say much about it.

Caroline will be out to see the twins and help Alaric, Damon is with Stefan staring longingly at a piece of metal, so she settles on the bed, patting the pillows behind her to be more comfortable and begins her reading. If it's nice enough, it could get her though the afternoon with a smile on her lips and a flowery, heartwarming mood. Why not.

She clears her voice, though she's not going to read out loud and turns the page to the first chapter, skipping the author's introduction altogether.

 _Bonnie couldn't help but think in that moment that it was the first time he was touching her. She had brought him his copy of the script many times, which he had accepted with nothing more than a passing look and an uninterested nod. She had reported the director instructions, the schedules for the following days, brought him coffee whenever he had asked for it, crossed each other when he left the lunch room and she finally got allowed a few minutes to grab a bite, and yet they never touched. Now, with a van almost running over her in the middle of the street, all she could stupidly think about, as he pushed her out of harm's way and pressed her between a car door and a hard, abundantly ensured sculpted body was that - after three months of intense working on set, forced by their roles to move like a satellite around him - this was the first time that Damon Spada had touched her._

She blinks and almost laughs in amusement before she realizes he's the love interest of the main lead, or at least someone of relevance, and there was a high chance she was going to read a romance between a black girl named Bonnie and a handsome asshole whose name was Damon.

It is easy to picture the scene, to picture _his_ face, because something similar happened to her in Amsterdam. Something that almost broke her heart to pieces, something that made her look so closely at him she could almost count the fragments of black in his streaked blue eyes.

The name is an odd coincidence, but a coincidence nonetheless and she shrugs it off, physically trying to shake the feeling off her. Her skin burns, if only a little, where his fingers tightened their grip, but it doesn't matter.

This is a light reading, a silly story. It will engage her for the day and tomorrow she won't remember a single detail of the predictable, recycled plot of this book.

 _His blue eyes were openly angry and she braced herself for what was about to come. Actors always had a volatile mood, used to being pampered and adored wherever they went. It made for an easy accomplishment to make them lose their temper. Damon Spada was no different, maybe just a little worse. "Can't you pay attention? How the hell did you get this job?" he asked, hissing between his teeth like a snake, his fingers pressing down into the tender skin of her arms. Her petite figure easily trapped by his hands. Bonnie kept her mouth shut, merely pulling inward her lower lip to bite it and keep the words inside. She was tired and they had so much to do. It was not her fault that they had taken away the barricade to block the traffic too soon. Yes, they had exceeded their schedule but it was nothing new in their job and someone was supposed to inform her. She wore an earpiece for a reason._

 _Damon pushed her back again, towards the car's body, pulling himself away and passing a hand through his thick jet black hair. A grimace on his pretty pink lips, eyes shining with a certain repressed fury, like an animal whose first instinct is to attack. Maybe he was used to wearing the hero's cape – with his sculpted features and his irritatingly perfect face – but he clearly did not suit the part very well in real life. She found him so hateful she could hardly bring herself to thank him. And she didn't._

It is so awkward how the description fits her Damon so perfectly, it almost makes her feel like she's reading his private diary, but Damon is not someone that would keep a diary, and Damon would never have the decency to conceal his affairs, if she was truly sticking her nose into them.

"It's just a silly book," she repeats, shaking her head and going back to it.

" _You've just put the whole production in danger," he accused her with a calm, hard tone. He was looking at her like a fly on the windshield of his new bolide. It didn't exactly spark any gratitude. Strangely enough, he didn't mention she had just put his life in danger, too. Just uttering the words, even if he displayed indifference, would have made her wake up the next day unemployed._

 _Not that his silence could spare her the lecture from production, but they would reprimand her and send her back to work. If he decided to lament her carelessness, now, tomorrow, or next week, she would find herself in serious trouble. Thankfully, he seemed to think himself too capable, or her too inconsequential, to imply that she could have any repercussion on his life. He merely frowned at her, pushing his fists into the pockets of his jeans as he answered the concerned question of the director and his personal assistant coming to check up on his state, then turned his back and went to sit on his chair, to run over his lines._

 _TBC_


	2. Chapter 2

_His blue eyes flickered up from the page of his script, sinking like a needle in the middle of her chest, before going back to the highlighted lines of the next scene. For a moment Bonnie felt all air leaving her lungs but managed to keep her stony façade, though not with little effort. With her peripheral vision - as she tried to casually reassure a colleague of her wellbeing, "I'm totally fine, really", though her heart was running a mile per second - she saw him cross his legs and rest his chin on the closed fist with that devil-may-care attitude that gained him the attention he profited from every single day._

Bonnie snickers nervously, shaking her head. "What the hell," she murmurs aloud, because envisioning Damon comes so easy it's almost creepy, like he's been spied on and she's taking an active part in that. But that's nonsense. Her asshole of a best friend not only is a professional stalker, and so he would have noticed something like that, but he would even have enjoyed the attention if it had happened at all.

Still, it's unnerving. Two pages into the book and the line between the character and the person she knows are already blurring, irking her a bit when she reads of his coldness and the way _Damon_ can easily slip back into his character like into an old sweater, while _Bonnie_ is silently worrying about how the day can possibly worsen, if she's going to have still a job by the end of it.

Her cellphone vibrates on the nightstand, interrupting her reading and making her sigh with frustration. She checks the screen and swipes down to take off the screen saver and read the message she just got. Damon just sent her a picture of himself in a Vogue-esque pose, stretched out on the hood of his latest love, bed hair and legs spread like he's waiting for his partner to sit back on his lap.

"Are you having a stroke?" she types, annoyed at how good he looks; that a casual, goofy picture can look like something out of Mario Testino's dark room.

"Only if someone will provide the stroking, _wink wink_ "

She can't help but chuckle at that.

"Asshole," she mutters, putting the phone down with the screen turned towards the nightstand surface. There is a slight warmth rising to her cheeks which she promptly ignores to go back to her book.

" _He shouldn't have talked to you like that"_

"Yes, thank you!" Bonnie replies aloud, unsure if she's referring to the cold treatment the character reserved to the main lead, or the obnoxious messages Damon just sent her.

 _She was so deep in her thoughts that his voice had made her jump and turn around. A soothing hand wrapped around her arm, and she could not tell how the space between them had reduced enough that She could smell his pricy cologne._

" _Are you okay?" Allan Gunn asked, leaning so slightly towards her that for a moment she wondered if she was imagining it. "I'm sorry," he said with a polite smile, "When you're a newbie fame easily goes to your head and you behave like a jerk," he explained, hinting with his head towards his colleague. Damon Spada had been in countless movies since he was twenty, had graced the list of sexiest men in the world every year since his debut, was currently being courted by two luxury fashion houses, and she was quite sure he could not be called a newbie anymore, but Allan Gunn had a few more years of experience on him and so to his eyes she could see why he could extend him such kindness._

" _It's okay, my world hardly revolves around Damon Spada," she answered with a shrug, unintentionally making Allan's hand fall away. He had been still touching her. "Though I don't think time will make him any better." The man's response was an amused chuckle, as he seemed to shortly inspect her with his eyes._

" _Still," he replied, with the most charming smile he had in his repertoire, "You're doing a wonderful job. We would have been lost if you had gotten hurt. You do half the job here."_

 _She felt a surge of pride at hearing that but tried to keep her composure. "Thanks, that's an overstatement though," she said, blushing. She did her best, always came in first and left last, and it was nice that someone had noticed._

" _It's not," he contradicted her. It was strange being complimented by a man that only this morning she saw wearing briefs on the side of a bus she had to run to take. She felt the need to look away from him for a second, so attractive he was, and she briefly met Damon's eyes. He was looking at her over a cup of coffee he was drinking. She saw him grimace and lower his eyes to stare inside his paper cup, and she felt the sting of it – she was a human being, a pretty decent one if she could say so herself, and he hadn't showed an ounce of humanity or compassion. And if she was such a hassle why couldn't he just ignore her instead? Why did he need to make her feel like she was such a burden? She wasn't, she really wasn't. Allan Gunn – the famous, beloved, much-more-important-then-him, Allan Gunn – had noticed how good she was at her job, so that counted for something._

" _This is the worst coffee I ever tasted," she heard him lament before seeing him discard the heavy cup into the nearest trash can. "Anyone can hand me one. I'm about to fall asleep on my lines," he said, all the while looking at her like a cat that got the cream. She looked around but everyone else was busy and distant and she was the only one wasting away her time talking to a man women fainted for._

" _I think that's my cue to go," she offered to the man talking to her, keeping up the smile just to not let Damon think he could get to her. He absolutely couldn't._

"Ugh, you're just jealous," Bonnie accuses him with slight satisfaction. The bastard can't treat her kindly to save his life, expects her to clean after his shit _because_ , and she wants him to see how good, handsome men behave and learn a thing or two. Yes, she just decided Allan seems way more likable than Damon, and she wishes he was the real male lead of the story. She's almost tempted to skip to the end and make sure that he is, but she resists. That would spoil her fun and maybe ruin her hope so she just stills her hands before she can flip the pages.

 _She handed him his coffee almost brusquely, accidentally making the burning black liquid spill over his marble-like skin. She saw him suck between his teeth, passing the cup in the other hand to shrug the coffee off the reddening one._

 _Bonnie swallowed, secretly mortified but unwilling to show her remorse for the accident. She was about to get yelled at, and probably be humiliated, in public, and she wanted to be stony for that. Maybe make him believe that she had done that on purpose. If she had to go down she wanted to go down like a badass._

" _When is your birthday?" he asked grimacing, "I want to buy you a t-shirt that says 'Caution. Danger ahead'," he said, before taking a sip off his coffee._

"Are you… flirting?" Bonnie asks aloud, a bit skeptical, as her heart seems to speed up.

 _There clearly was an insult in there, in the averse tone of his voice, in his annoyed blue eyes, but Bonnie felt nervous rather than ashamed._

"Oh my God," Bonnie whines, "Don't do this to me. Stand your ground, girl. He's too used to having women fall at his feet at ever corner. Don't let him get to you!"

 _She was waiting for the other shoe to drop, and when the director's assistant arrived to announce they were about to start the filming of the last scene of the day only to notice the strange color of his hand she held her breath, waiting for the sword to fall on her head._

" _What's happened to your hand?" the woman asked, "You know we need to film close-up today."_

" _Bonnie, here," he started, looking at her like he was trying to decide where to bite first. If to kill her slowly or just be done with her, "Was telling me just the same thing."_

" _We have some ointment in the First Aid kit," she suggested, turning towards Bonnie. "You should go get it," she added, before walking away._

" _Yes, Bonnie," he said, with a tense, saccharine grin, "You should go get it. If it's something you think you're able to do without provoking a major crisis." His expression turned sore as he delivered his debasing comment._

"Ugh. Prick," Bonnie comments again, taking her eyes away from the page. She clearly had been stupid in thinking he was even remotely interested in her. This wasn't some love-hate kind of attraction. This was jerkiness at its finest. Well, this perspective made her feel much more comfortable about it all.

 _She was in such bad mood that she had slept badly that night. She thought she couldn't take the frown off her face for anything in the world._

 _But coffee, she decided the moment a manly hand presented a steaming cup under her nose._

 _She raised her eyes on the face of Allan Gunn and felt like suddenly all the lights were on her, and the soundtrack of a love movie was about to start in the background. It probably was inevitable when a movie star noticed you between a hundreds of faceless workers and offered you a little solace during a shitty day of a shitty week._

 _Bonnie told herself this wasn't some big romantic gesture, and she didn't need to give too much weight to his kindness, but in the back of her mind a silly girl was starting a project for a white wedding. And what was wrong with it? She just wanted to fantasize a bit about a prince charming. All girls had a right to a little fantasizing, and actors did that for a living, embodying a fantasy._

" _You always bring me coffee," he explained, urging her to accept the cup, "I thought I could return the favor for once," he added, leaning against the edge of a table where she was cataloging the jewels for one of the night-time scenes._

 _She looked around subtly to see if anyone had noticed his kind act. If they did, they didn't give any indication._

" _Thanks, I really needed it," she said, taking a sip as he did the same._

" _Rough night?" he inquired, "Your boyfriend kept you up?"_

" _Oh, no. No boyfriend," she said, feeling a bit uncomfortable. Would he think her too independent or just plain pathetic? She knew Damon's answer to that question, but Allan seemed like a very nice man, so she hoped he would take a chance to get to know her before deciding in which category she fell. "Just… couldn't sleep well."_

There is a good amount of detail in a set's organization and filming equipment that she enjoys reading about. And then there's the lingering looks, and the open smiles from Allan, which are friendly and yet bordering on something else. He's nice to everyone but he makes it a point to be nice to Bonnie, and she likes it.

" _Can you check up on Damon and see if he's ready?" the director's assistant asks her, before shouting orders around. They needed to start filming because his counterpart for the scene had a tight schedule and she needed be on a plane to make a promotional appearance for her upcoming second album, so they needeed to speed up the process and hope they did it right in the first takes._

 _Bonnie rushed to his trailer stopping when she heard the makeup artist comment, "You're not in your best condition, today. You have dark circles."_

" _Couldn't sleep much," he answered briefly. "Sorry about that."_

 _Was he apologizing? And for something as ridiculous as the state of his skin?_

" _That's okay," the girl answered as Bonnie peeked inside through the open door, "I usually have it really easy with you."_

" _I don't have cash on me," he said, stealing a glance at her, "Do you do credit?" he asked, sounding very genuine and making her laugh._

 _So, it turned out to Bonnie's disappointment, there was someone he could be nice to in this world. Thinking about it, she had never heard a single bad work about him. Charlie, the oldest cameraman on set, always praised his professionalism, the fact that he always knew how to move to favor the shot, that he learned his colleagues' lines along with his own._

" _Silly," the girl giggled, pushing back a strand of blonde hair._

" _How come you couldn't sleep, anyway?" she asked, "A girl occupying your thoughts?"_

" _Not exactly," he said, raising one hand. Even from where she stood, Bonnie could see the bright red of his skin. "This has been pulsing like hell for the better part of the night. We need to cover it before I'm out of here." And Bonnie felt guilt twisting in her gut. She hadn't even bothered saying sorry for what she had done, and she was a pro at being sorry, for anything and towards anyone._

 _Why hadn't she said the words? She pushed the door open, stepped inside with her chin high and said, "Sorry."_

 _Damon raised his eyes, meeting hers in the reflection of the mirror._

" _Sorry," she started again, "They wanna know if you're ready, yet," she finished, feeling a little like an idiot._

" _One minute and he'll be all yours," the blonde makeup artist replied with a smile as she mixed up a couple of foundation colors onto a large palette to start and work on his hand. Damon barely looked at her and didn't bother replying since his friend had done that in his place._

 _Bonnie lingered shortly, waiting for him to say something, or for herself to gather the courage to utter a proper apology for what she had done, but time stretched between them and nothing came._

" _Anything else?" the girl asked, raising her eyes from his hand._

" _Nothing," Bonnie replied, shaking her head. "I'm going," she added, turning on her heals and leaving in a rush. It was embarrassing to know that she was the only one getting on his nerves that way. It was demeaning. Anyone else had Damon's good consideration but her, and she wanted it. She had never wanted the attention or the flattery, never hoped to be the lead of a great romance, but she wanted to be good at her job, for how unglamorous it was. She wanted a pat on the back at the end of the day and the awareness that she had done her best in every little task handed to her._

 _Allan seemed to read the discomfort on her face and from where he was he mouthed, "Don't mind him," taking for granted that Damon had acted like a jerk again. It was easier to think that it was all his fault rather than doubt her own professionalism. And if Allan Gunn though he was a newbie that felt high and mighty maybe he was right; after all, people around her were always telling her how she was too hard on herself, how she shouldn't let anyone take advantage of her good heart, so maybe this was it. Damon wasn't nice at all, and this was just a lapse. It was his way to charm a girl he probably wanted to bed. The blonde girl was very pretty._

Bonnie feels bitter about it all, and Allan's attention doesn't seem to make it better. Those who work behind the camera do it with the rhythm of a well-oiled machine. There's nothing that would let her think he overlooked or underestimated her, yet the poor consideration Damon has of her rubs her the wrong way.

Bonnie – paper-Bonnie – seems to decide to put aside her prejudices towards him, even try to smile at him in a friendly way when their eyes meet, but his look is cold and disinterested.

Bonnie seems to be waiting around for him to appear again between the lines, so much so that she misses the slight, subtle change of tone, when Allan raises his eyes from the crook of the actress's neck to meet _Bonnie_ 's eyes with a lusty look. She doesn't seem to give meaning to it – he was filming and she happened to be there, near the camera. It was just accidental and not important at all.

" _Are you busy?" he asked, hugging two copies of the script to his chest, nonchalantly displaying the size of his arms. She was, but it wasn't anything urgent enough to refuse a request from one of the lead actors, so she pushes the boxes that she's just pulled out of the truck aside and nods her head. "What do you need?"_

" _You," Allan said huskily before smiling and erasing the sudden tension. "I hoped you could help me brush up on the lines for the next scene," he explained, handing her the scripts, "Number twelve."_

" _Of course, sure," she replied, flipping through the pages to find the scene. Her eyes scanned the lines rapidly to find the woman's part, summarizing the setting. Bonnie tormented her lower lip the moment it dawned on her that it was a sex scene, and her lines consisted mainly of "Don't make me wait anymore" and "I want you" and a few moaned encouragements when he lifts the dress off her._

 _The temperature of her skin seemed to rise immediately, and she felt uncomfortable, suffocated by his sole presence, sickened by the smell of his pricy cologne._

" _I- I'm no good with lines," she said, fingers gripping the sides of the script as she looks around to see no one. She's outside the studio and he's right in front of her, almost pressing her against the truck._

" _I'm sure you'll be great," he reassured her with a lascivious tone, "I don't wanna do this with no one else," he adds, with a telling smile._

" _I really have to bring those boxes inside," she said, reaching for the boxes on the ground, but he wrapped his fingers around her wrists and pulled her back up against him. The script fell to the ground making no noise._

" _What kind of man would I be if I didn't do the heavy lifting for you," he said, as the other hand fell on her waist. She tries to put some space between them only to hit her back against the metal of the truck. Her mind raced with all the options she had; if he tried to put his hands on her she could slap him and make him angry enough to torment her or make her lose her job. Screaming seemed useless since no one was around. And accepting his advances was totally out of question. Still, she didn't want to lose her job. It wasn't fair._

" _I don't mind," Bonnie rushed to say. "That's my job," she added looking down at the boxes._

" _There are better things you ca—"_

" _Hey there," Damon's voice broke his words and the tension in the air. Bonnie's breath became erratic, suddenly. Like adrenaline and panic were taking over only now that she was nearly safe._

" _Damon," Allan greeted him with a fake smile._

 _She looked at him with wide eyes, but he just casually looked at Allan, when he asked, "What are you doing already here?"_

" _I like to come early," he shrugged, one hand sunk into the pocket of his jeans, a bag dangling over his shoulder as he held it there with the other, the burned one. He pursed his lips, gave her a quick, cold look before deciding, "You look pale. You better go inside and drink something strong before you faint and slow down the work."_

" _Yeah," she just muttered, taking the box from the ground and rushing inside, past Damon, whom remained still, watching her pass in front of him._

 _She didn't know if he had seen the whole thing or had just read the situation, or maybe if he had been blind to it all, but after days wishing he could avoid his presence she was suddenly very grateful he had appeared, even if his words were still lacking of kindness._

For once Damon was being useful and Bonnie is too relieved to realize that the list of possible romantic interests has shortened to one man, or the fact that the more the author describes his attitude or his look the more she keeps thinking of her best friend.

 _When she met his eyes and they remained cold, the doubt that he had seen the scene and misunderstood the whole thing as a maneuver on her part to seduce the famous actor and maybe get ahead of her colleagues on set began eating at her._

" _Water?" she asked, handing him a bottle that he takes, barely raising his eyes from the script._

" _About before—"_

" _Your business," he cut her off distractedly, one finger sliding over the page as he seemed to go over the lines in his mind._

" _I don't want you to misunderstand—"_

" _That would imply that I care," he replied, sighing, "Which I really don't."_

 _Bonnie's teeth closed about her lower lip as she tried not to get emotional over his brusque ways, because however bad he was, he had still done her a favor by sending her inside and keeping her away from Gunn._

"You could at least let her explain!" Bonnie protests when _Bonnie_ reluctantly leaves him alone, feeling lower and lower. She hates misunderstanding so much, but the way their dynamic makes her anxious and frustrated, it's ridiculous, almost like the relationship of two fictional characters affects all her future happiness.

It's silly and dangerous and bordering on crazy but she can't help herself.

 _She was miserably staring into her plate when Allan rested his tray on the long table, sitting in front of her._

" _Penny for your thoughts?" he asked, licking away the sauce from one finger before grinning up at her._

" _Just eating," she answered briefly, wishing hard that he would just stop talking to her. She felt invisible most of the time, and now that she wished for it he seemed to find her everywhere._

" _It seems like the cafeteria's food doesn't tickle your fancy," he said, when he realized noticed she hadn't really eaten much, "Maybe you and I could—"_

" _I was looking for you," Damon called out, sitting next to Bonnie and ignoring her completely only to speak to Allan._

" _Yeah?" the other man asked, shifting his eyes from his colleague to the girl and back, "What for?"_

" _I wanted to discuss the scene we're going to share," he explains, taking a sip from his beverage, straight from the bottle. Bonnie noticed he only ever drank water. It was a recommendation all makeup artists made to their actors, to keep their skin unblemished and make their job easier, but everyone made a little exception here and there. Everyone but Damon. "What do you think about it? What's the subtext behind your actions?"_

" _That scene is in three days, what's the rush?" he asked, clearing his throat._

 _Damon shrugged, holding his gaze with an innocent expression. "It seemed like a good moment," he said. "I'm not interrupting anything, am I?"_


	3. Chapter 3

_Allan looked down into his cup of soda before answering, "Not at all," with an irritated smile. Bonnie thought he was not such a great actor, after all, for it was clear he wanted to tell Damon off. "You're very dedicated," he added before drinking from his paper cup._

 _Bonnie took a slice of zucchini from her plate and ate it slowly, just to keep herself busy and not call attention upon her. The tension at the table wasn't doing much for her appetite._

" _Everyone knows the caliber of actor that you are, man," Damon replied, almost saccharine, "I've heard so much about you. It's only right that I take the chance to learn a thing or two."_

 _Allan nodded, easily convinced, his look one of gratification at his colleague words. "Who did you work with?" he asked, trying to know who had praised him._

" _Odette Sheppard." Damon's tone was very casual but Bonnie saw Allan go still at that name._

" _Yeah, it's a name I've heard before," he answered with a slight delay._

" _You left quite an impression on her," Damon continued. "I mean, she was still a newbie and you were already a famous actor. She had a little role in that horror movie you did a couple of years ago."_

" _How do you know her?" Allan asked, face carefully void of any emotion, though his stance looked tense. Bonnie couldn't help but study him because it was the first time he seemed to be the one cornered and desperately trying to get out of it without causing a scene._

" _Little world. Same agent," he just replied._

" _I'm sure she gives me too much credit," the man said nonchalantly, cutting a piece of meat on his plate, "But you know how it is, they see an actor with experience and they build up a fantasy we should never be asked to hold up."_

" _You're too modest," Damon insisted, words so heavy with misplaced warmth that the sarcasm couldn't be missed. "I saw you and I think you're exactly what she said you were."_

 _Bonnie raised her eyes on Damon to see his perfect profile, the curve of his disparaging grin, the cold eyes, and then moved them on Allan. The man looked accusatory. "I need to go to makeup," he said then, casually giving a look to his wrist watch._

" _Oh, bummer," Damon replied with a caustic inclination in his voice._

 _Allan turned to her with a sudden smile that made her regret looking up at all "See you later, Bonnie," he said, standing up from the long wood stool before leaving with a wink._

 _Bonnie kept her head up and heard the disgusted cry her tablemate made next to her. She turned to see him grimacing as he stared at the spaghetti rolled up around the plastic fork. "I would skip the pasta if I were you," he said, addressing her for the first time since he first sat down next to her. "This is overcooked." He hadn't even tasted it. "Why go overboard? I would settle for a sandwich. If you can't manage Italian then just stick to what you can do," he considered, clearly disappointed with the cafeteria's service and grabbing the apple before pushing the tray away with one finger. The sliding of plastic on the rough wood made a scratching sound, slightly muffled by the chatting around them._

 _Bonnie turned her head towards him unsure about what to say. She wanted to know who Odette Sheppard was and what kind of relationship he had with her but she feared it would rub him the wrong way, and she didn't want to risk it now that he was being somehow civil to her, so she settled for the next best thing._

" _You know how to cook pasta?" Maybe it was a stupid thing to ask, all considered, but she wanted to know something about him. Something real, personal._

" _My mom is Italian, and I lived a few years in Milan, making ends meet by working as model," he said, perfect teeth biting down on the red apple he'd brought to his mouth._

 _It was silly, but she felt almost a surge of pride at hearing that. He had mentioned his mother to her, had shared a detail about his past – though she probably would have known that if had bothered to google him– so she wasn't his number one enemy on set. That would be Allan Gunn, if their little exchange meant anything._

 _She nodded and wished he would add more, just to learn what he sounded like when he didn't resent her clumsiness or her mere presence. She was dying to explain what had happened with Gunn, to tell him that she wasn't trying to make a move on the man and wasn't happy with his interest in her, but Damon remained silent, eating his apple and never looked at her. He clearly didn't want to know about it, though he had just – willingly or not – helped her out of an embarrassing situation once again, and she should have been happy with it._

 _Maybe he hadn't been the kindest person when he had told her he didn't care to know about what was really going on between her and Gunn, but it wasn't as if he was required to care. She was so used to catering to everyone needs that she couldn't fathom a person's disinterest towards another, and yet he was right. They crossed paths at work, and as long as they were both professional she had to be content with it all._

Bonnie is fifty-five pages into the book by now and the clothes she's picked are still folded on her bed, waiting for her to tear herself away from the story to wear them, but she's too involved in the romance already to do that. After all, she's supposed to relax and enjoy her time, and if she's doing just that while wearing a towel, so what? A lot of people just stroll naked around the house when they're alone, she's still keeping it classy here, and it's not like there's any pressing matter at hand.

She doesn't bother looking at the clock on the nightstand. She settled down on the bed to read five, maybe ten minutes ago _at best_. Really, she's got plenty of time to dress herself and get ready to go grab a drink with her buddy.

It actually feels a bit confusing, deep down, the sensation that she's been with Damon the last couple of hours. His blue eyes fixated in her mind, his grinning mouth taunting her, his unbearable attitude all around her, wrapping her intimately, like the towel she's wearing about her. Yet, she pushes it to the back of her mind and continues with her reading.

" _Bonnie!" Albert, a man in his late fifties that manages all the general assistants on set, and had given her the badge on the first days of filming, made an hand motion signaling her to go to him. She nodded in response, leaving the box of water bottles in a corner to go to him._

" _Listen up, kid," he said, looking down at his folder – he called everyone under him 'kid' though most of them have passed that stage from awhile – "Spada's personal assistant found himself another job, the guy has been managing himself for the last week while his agent schedules interviews for a replacement, but since he likes to pick his own staff he's not going to be able to do that until this production is over so he asked if we could lend him one of ours." He explained neatly._

"Oh fuck," Bonnie mutters, alarmed and excited at the same time. She doesn't want to let on the impression that she's happy about this development – though no one is there to see her – but mostly she doesn't want to admit to herself that she is happy about it, yet she bites her lower lip and takes a deep breath, bracing herself for what's coming.

 _She blinked, trying to not jump to any conclusions – maybe someone else was getting the job and she was supposed to cover in for them until someone else was hired for it._

 _The man looked at her for a moment, and continued when she didn't say anything, "It's longer hours and quite the hassle, but the guy is decent, the pay is pretty good and you'd still be on set most of the time. So?" he pressed, chewing on his minty gum._

" _He wants me?" she asked, like it wasn't obvious enough. She had irked the man, almost scarred him, and he had a few reasons to think not particularly highly of her, so it was a surprise how this day was turning out._

" _Didn't I say that?" he asked, looking at her like he was expecting her to jump at the occasion instead of asking stupid questions. "So?"_

 _With her peripheral vision she saw Allan Gunn coming out of his trailer, brushing something invisible off his shirt and looking like he was stepping on a red carpet rolled out for him to not dirty the sole of his shoes._

" _Yeah, sure," she said, turning her attention fully to Albert. "I'll do it," she confirmed._

 _If she was Damon's personal assistant Allan couldn't bother her with his dubious requests and she could go back to concentrating on her work instead. She was not going to think about what else that would mean, how her day would change to rotate around Damon Spada, around his necessities and needs. She would worry about one thing at the time, she decided with a nod._

 _She felt a bit nervous as she walked past the lights technicians and grabbed a bottle of water on the way to Damon only to have something to occupy her hands with._

" _Water?" she offered as she stood next to him while he watched from the side as a couple of men made sure the security net was well fastened between two buildings._

" _Yeah, thanks" he answered without taking his eyes off the men. He drank slowly as the director approached them._

" _We can still call your body double, you know," he said, scratching his head._

" _Let the guy have his rest," Damon said tiredly, like it was the umpteenth time he'd had to repeat it. "He'll still have plenty of occasions to break his neck."_

" _You just think about not breaking yours or this movie goes down like the Titanic," the man said, patting his shoulders before going back to check on the set._

" _You're doing this yourself?" Bonnie asked, looking up at the roof where Allan was appearing but he didn't bother to answer. It looked scary from where she stood. He looked up at his colleague, smiled at him raising his bottle like he was toasting to something, and she felt slightly sick to her stomach._

" _This will take awhile," he said, turning towards her and taking his cell phone from his back pocket, along with an organizer. "Keep these. My agent will call to tell you the shooting schedule," he said without clarifying for her what was he talking about. "Until then I'm detoxing, which means I can't ingest anything but water and aloe vera juice, so make sure I'm stocked up. The light for filming this scene will be good for another hour, after that I'm done, if we don't have the best shot yet we'll have to continue another day, so have the car ready for me," he explained handing her the keys to his vintage car._

Damon would only drive a vintage car, so it's not a surprise, and yet – she realizes with a slight delay – this is not Damon Salvatore she's reading about, so his ways and his eyes and his choice of vehicle should be a discovery, not a mere confirmation. The more she reads, the more the two Damons blend together, making her feel reluctant about her desire to see the romance spark between him and Bonnie. Damon is Elena's, but this one can be Bonnie's, can't he? It's not like she's making a move on her friend's boyfriend, right?

She wouldn't do that.

She closes her eyes when Damon walks around half naked – when he feels generous enough to limit himself to the _half_ – offering a free peep show, and she doesn't try to lead anyone in error when they go out together for a beer and girls think she's his girlfriend. She doesn't even lean into him when he kisses her forehead. So, if she enjoys some innocent romance that's been thrown her way by a boring, lonely afternoon and an Amazon error it's not the end of the world, and she doesn't need to feel guilty about it.

It's a stupid book, for God's sake.

 _His address was saved in the car's GPS. He had rented a five-room apartment in Port Moody, which was half an hour of driving from the set. The car stereo still worked with CDs but she didn't dare put on any music because Damon had fallen asleep barely five minutes after getting inside the car. She could see his closed eyes and the way he breathed deeply in his tiredness from the rear-view mirror._

 _The door on his side opened the moment she turned off the engine, making her wonder how long he had been awake, but she ignored the question to rush out of the car and open the truck to get the two bags of aloe vera juice she had bought along the way. He followed her silently, took one bag from her hand and slipped the other one in the pocket of his jeans, only to turn around and walk towards the entrance of the building._

 _She followed suit, stealing a glance at the list of names under the intercom, it was all empty, making her realize the apartments were probably rented for short periods of time. He lived on the last floor – the third one – with no elevator. She tried not to stare at his backside as she followed him up. It wasn't that she wanted to watch, it just was right in her face as he walked up the stairs before her._

 _He wasn't exactly going out of his way to make her feel more relaxed about her new role. In fact, he hadn't said a word since his first and last string of orders on set. He was a pain in the ass even when he shut up, she thought shaking her head behind him while he opened the door._

 _The place itself smelled like flowery floor detergent. It was clean and neat and kind of Spartan for a man of his income. She thought he'd live in gold, surrounded by mirrors so he could stare at himself from every angle all the time, so she felt a bit guilty seeing how normal he lived._

 _She was so distracted she almost let the key fall when he threw them through the air at her, telling her, "These are yours, now."_

 _She stared at the chain in her hand, which held two keys._

" _They're not for you to throw a slumber party in my house," he clarified, looking at her from behind the kitchen isle._

" _I wouldn't," she replied, resentful at the insinuation._

 _He sat down on the stool behind the counter top and opened a bottle of aloe vera juice, taking a sip as he looked at her. "Did my agent call?"_

" _Oh, yeah," she felt relieved to have something to discuss with him because she still wasn't sure how she was supposed to feel about her new job, much less about him, "The shooting it's at six, the day after tomorrow," she said, putting the bag down at her feet and checking her organizer._

 _He nodded. "Do you live close by?"_

" _More or less twenty minutes away," she answered, making a mental sum of the time she would take getting there._

" _There aren't many chances to get into traffic at five-thirty in the morning, so you can take your time, I suppose, but try not to be late. I don't like being late."_

" _Five-thirty…in the morning?"_

 _He chuckled at her surprise, "Of course, you think they keep the place occupied and pay a crew just to snap a couple of pictures at the end of the day? It's for Vogue, they take this stuff pretty seriously."_

 _She nodded, as she started to realize the actor's life wasn't as easy as it looked from the pages of a magazine._

" _I'm not a morning person so just let yourself in when you arrive, and try not to be too noisy," he said, nursing his bottle of green juice, "I'll always be punctual but should you find me still asleep when I'm not supposed to be, you're allowed to knock me out off my bed."_

 _Now things seemed to become really interesting, and he probably had noticed the change in her eyes for he grinned at her, "Don't hold your breath, though. I'm a true professional."_

" _And oh, so modest," she dead panned before she could stop herself. Her eyes grew wide as she realized she had spoken aloud, and he chuckled at her, amused._

" _Unless you want to share my liquid diet, you should go," he just said, "Tomorrow my filming starts at ten a.m., so I need to be there by nine to go to make-up. Take the car."_

There are a couple of pages about Bonnie going grocery shopping and limited cooking capabilities, the lonely life she has in a place she shares with a couple of girls that work on different sets and have different schedules. She doesn't have a boyfriend at the moment because the constant moving her job required wasn't doing anything to make things better with her quiet, cute neighbor and they had taken a break that was going on from two months already. They had exchanged a few, infrequent text messages since she was in Vancouver and that was all.

 _As she walked towards her building she passed by a lingerie boutique and stopped to stare at the shop window. She needed some new panties and tops, and she already knew what she was going to buy. She needed practical, clean white cotton that would make her daily schedule comfortable, yet her eyes lingered on a long-lined brain floral lace, with a pearl detail between the breasts and front and side boning with a matching thong panty with a low rise. The color, she realized as she stared at the illuminated shop window, was a blue that reminded her of Damon's eyes._

 _She broke out of her reverie only when the shutter started to roll down in front of the glass. When was she supposed to wear something that pretty in a city where she had barely any acquaintances let alone something vaguely similar to a boyfriend? And even when she had a plus one, she wasn't one to dare to try to be sexy. Moreover, since she had started gravitating around the movie sets she was awkwardly aware of what was considered sexy – fair skinned beauties that towered over her petite frame._

 _She would feel ridiculous if she left the store with something like that in her bag._

The last lines just bite at her insides because she can feel _acutely_ what she means. Since she was a little girl she had been staring at Elena's flock of suitors, and Caroline's flirty way to command the male attention, and she had secretly felt inadequate, choosing to prove her worth in other aspects of her life. Between her friends, she had the best grades, and was the most understanding and the one the both of them always turned to first, if they needed to vent or be advised, but when it came to partying and enjoying the attention, she didn't know the first thing about it. Reliable Bonnie. Strong Bonnie. She was their security net, always ready to catch them when they fell, but otherwise, there was little use for her.

Out of frustration, she thinks she'll go out and buy lingerie of the same color as Damon's eyes. That's a silly idea, she realizes as it sinks in; but, she' should be allowed to do silly things every once in a while. It's some freaking lingerie, not a statement in blood.

Would Damon mind having his eyes on her naked skin? She wonders, shaking her head when she realizes how intimate that sounds. That wasn't how the question was supposed to sound.

Oh, whatever!

 _She was so anxious to do her job at the best of her ability that she let herself into Damon's apartment at eight in the morning with a plain bag dangling from the right arm, ready to take on her new mission when her eyes landed on an half naked Damon, still wet from the shower, towel precariously hanging around his defined hips, the V of his pelvis so evident it looked freshly sculpted with a chisel, a short stripe of fine dark hair under his belly button following the lean muscles of his stomach._

 _She looked away immediately, but the temperature in her skin was already rising and in her head the voice of the insecure girl she was sure she had left at home sleeping was actually screaming in her head._

 _Oh my God - she thought to herself briefly, shutting her eyes like she could un-see what she had just seen - this wasn't really happening._

"Oh, that's the worse," Bonnie mutters under her breath, avidly reading on. He's always so brazen about it, and he likes to flaunt his body like it's the best thing happened to the world after the Creation; and chances are, he's not even that far from the truth, the asshole. Completely forgetting that it's Damon Spada she's reading of.

 _Bonnie sucked her lower lip between her teeth, offering a "Sorry" with the most unaffected tone she could master, and she turned around, grimacing when her eyes caught the plain color of the wall._

" _I charge twenty bucks for a fifteen-minute show," he said, sounding amused at her embarrassment, "Plus tips, of course. But you should let me wear underwear first, otherwise you could get confused about where to stash the bills."_

Bonnie chuckles at that despite herself. It's _so_ like Damon to say something that idiotic and vain.

" _You come cheap," she tried to bite at him for getting a kick out of her unlucky timing._

" _Employee discount," he clarified, cheerily._

" _I thought you weren't a morning person," she sighed, exasperatedly looking up at the ceiling._

" _I think you just changed my mind," he replied, sounding incredibly entertained by the whole situation, before deciding to take pity on her, "And now I'm going to get dressed. Make yourself comfortable."_

 _When she turned around, the door was closing behind him._

The knock on the door confuses her, and she looks up blinking. She's still wrapped inside her towel, and it's coming undone.

"Bon, I'm coming in!" Damon calls from the hallway.

"Don't!" she runs, pressing open palms on the surface of the door to keep it closed, "I'm not dressed," she says to keep him out.

"Then I'm _definitely_ coming in," he says to pull her leg.

"Idiot," she mutters under her breath, though she's smiling at his stupid attitude.

"I heard that!"

"You were supposed to!" she answers, "Now go down—"

"I will if you open the door!" he informs her, the innuendo clear as day, while she finishes "—to wait for me," reproachfully.

Bonnie covers her face with one hand, disappointed with herself for being so amused at his idiocy. She chortles despite herself.

"I heard that, too," he says, in a sing-song tone, "You think I'm _so_ funny."

"Go away, Damon," she replies, rolling her eyes, "I'll be downstairs soon." She turns around to look at the abandoned book on the bed.

She wants to spend time with Damon – the one made of flesh and bones – but she hates the idea of taking her hands off the book. Maybe she can slip it inside her purse, steal a glance at the printed words, at a world where she is the centre of attention and someone as loyal as Damon loves her as passionately as only Damon can love.

"I'll be waiting for you," he says, behind her, speaking out of her deepest fantasy.


	4. Chapter 4

Bonnie is sitting at the bar counter when her eyes slide distractedly down towards the open purse on her lap, feeling a light bubbly excitation at the sight of the book she's been reading all day. On the space of a page she's the leading lady of a love story, the other half of someone.

She doesn't even notice the handsome boy approaching, nor the murderous grin Damon offers him, when he arrives and slides onto the stool next to hers.

The boy raises both hands like he's surrendering, "Sorry man, didn't know she was taken," he explains, taking a step back to turn on his heels.

"Mmm? What?" Bonnie raises her head to find Damon staring at a boy that's walking towards the table where his friends are sitting. "Did you say something?"

"I was asking if you're waiting for a call," he says, noticing her distraction. She's not one to go around with much, just her cellphone, wallet and keys, no lipstick or mirror to touch up her makeup.

"What? No," she answers with a shake of her head.

"Because if it's a guy, you shouldn't give him the time of the day," he continues, despite her denial, raising his hand to signal the bartender to fill their glasses.

"Why is that?" she asks, narrowing her eyes at him.

"Because _A,"_ he starts, raising a finger to indicate a list, "After spending time with me we are both painfully aware that you can't just go and lower the bar." When she opens the mouth to contradict him, he uses the raised finger to put it against her lips and shuts her up. "I agree with you," he says, feigning sympathy, "You should at _least_ hold on to hope, for however useless it is."

She rolls her eyes at him, accidentally catching a group of girls looking their way, staring at Damon's back like they are trying to burn a hole into him; and for a moment, she forgets to follow his vain reasoning. _Has he arrived to_ C _?_ She wonders, looking at his three raised fingers. "…Guys wants one thing only."

She turns to him, her eyes grow wide as she fakes surprise and horror. "And what's _that_?" she asks, cocking her head to the side.

Damon turns towards his drink to gulp it down while she chuckles, amused. "So, if there's no guy…" he concedes, believing his best friend would never lie to him — even though his reaction to that kind of revelation would be to try and make her desist from any attempt at a romantic relationship — "What did you do, today?"

"I've been reading," she replies, biting her lower lip and regretting it immediately.

"Something good?" Damon enjoys his reading a lot, he always did. Even on the other side, the only times he managed to leave her alone was when she'd put a book in his hands. He would push her towards the end of the sofa – between her protests for his manners – and use her thighs as pillow for his head as he laid down to read. At some point she had just given up and sat where he would want her, anyway.

"Books for my courses," she lies, with a shrug, closing her purse, knowing he won't ask to borrow some curricular manual.

"I'll pass." He grimaces at her answer, making her feel safe about her dirty, little secret. It's embarrassing enough to be so deep into a silly romance novel, but to tell him that she's half in love with the main lead which shares his name and his unbearable attitude would take the cake. What would he think? She wants to be free to enjoy a little romance without the Freudian psychoanalyzing and the second-guessing, and she does both very well on her own without Damon's support, thank you very much.

"This is your spring break, you should live it to the fullest, you know. Get drunk and get naked, steal a car and cross the border with the police at your heels," he explains, drink in one hand, looking all sage and wise. Bonnie raises an eyebrow, giving him a blank stare.

"I don't think living to the fullest strictly requires a criminal record."

Damon grimaces, looking as though he's considering her point

"And you just vetoed the male population for me less than five minutes ago."

"So we're left with getting drunk, which, I'll have you know, I'm a _champion_ at!" he declares snapping his fingers at the barman, calling, "Alan!"

Her heartbeat goes frantic.

Bonnie's smile falls from her face in the fraction of a second, as she turns her eyes on the young man smiling Damon's way, as he says, "Fill them up," though her drink is still half full.

"Sure thing, handsome," and Bonnie doesn't need to go out of her way to know that Alan – with one L - would be more interested in Damon than herself, if he were to pick his company.

Bonnie blinks away the sudden, short paralysis that came over her muscles, and tries to enjoy the night.

Damon makes her laugh, quite a lot. Her mind, a couple of times, goes back to the story waiting silently in her purse but she enjoys herself so much it is easy to lose herself in his stupid jokes and the way he elbows her whenever he wants her eyes on him again, so that he can be more effective with his storytelling.

She enjoys the cutting taste of the drinks he buys for her, the envious stares from girls that imagine him being more than just her drinking buddy that make her feel like for once she has the leading role in this movie, slips in a few sassy remarks here and there, making him look at her with a mixture of surprise and pride.

"I'm rubbing off on you so well," he decides at one point.

"Well, actually, you're _behaving_ ," she answers, "So who's rubbing on who?" and he grins at her before she gives up at puts her head against his shoulders, tired and more than a little relaxed from her drinks.

Still, she's not drunk. Or that's what she repeats when he mocks her, and when he drags her to the car crouching down so that her arm circles his shoulders, and later, when he scoops her up and brings her up the stairs to take her to her room.

The walls spin a couple of times, and she closes her eyes, relying on the steady firmness of Damon's chest to find a secure place. In the dark she can barely realize when he stumbles and they both fall on her bed. She lands softly on her mattress, against her pillows, and he stops his own fall with both hands, effectively trapping her in the cage of his arms.

Bonnie opens her eyes lazily, can feel the warmth of his husky voice slipping through her clothes when he says, "This could be dangerous," and the breath of him tickles her lips, igniting something in the bottom of her stomach. His blue eyes look like mercury in the in the moonlight, so tender, volatile, electric. Bonnie's mind is numbed and yet her muscles feel like they are going to twitch on their own accord from all the tension that flows through her skin at the vague contact of his wrist against the skin of her waist, where the camisole she wore rode up.

"This is why I tell you to tidy up your room," he adds, pulling away from her.

"Yes, Mrs. Stewart," she replies, smiling indolently up at him before closing her eyes to enjoy the softness of her bed. She can feel herself drifting off with his towering presence above her and delicate fingertips pushing her hair away from her forehead.

Bonnie wakes up hours later, because she needs to use the restroom. She finds herself cocooned between soft sheets, shoes neatly paired next to the foot of the bed and she's still wearing her clothes. In the fog of her restless sleep she has a strange recollection of feeling Damon's hands around her feet and ankles.

Drinking never helped her sleep well, on the contrary, it usually brings her a few hours of restless sleep, a loud need to pee and then she's left staring at her ceiling for a couple of hours before she can manage to knock herself out again. This time though, when she comes out of her private bathroom she knows how she's going to entertain herself.

She takes off her make up with less care then her usual, and is really quick washing her hands of any residue to go hunt down her purse and the object of her desire. Luckily for her Damon is so neat she doesn't even need to rummage around before she finds it, slipping in between the sheets and turning on her nightstand lamp to look at the printed words awaiting her.

 _His agenda was perfectly full with commitments for the next four months, with filming, photo shoots, interviews, etc., and there was more she needed to squeeze in, which made her feel a little guilty. It was his job, and he was a professional, but wasn't he supposed to rest at some point?_

" _Your next free day is in three weeks," she mumbled, hoping he would contradict her statement._

" _I know. Great, isn't it?" he replied, instead. "This is my moment. I've been working really hard for this," he finished, before stepping in position in front of the camera._

 _She looked at him with admiration. Damon was made for the spotlight, and he did everything in his power to make sure he could be proud of his job. It was something easy to respect for her. Having being subjected to his attractiveness from up close it was easy to think that his looks were the key to his success, but that could only bring him so far. What Damon Spada had, he had earned it with commitment and sweat._

 _She observed the makeup artist, dusting his face with a light layer of powder to avoid the shine from the set lightening. He made a joke, making the girl smile. His eyes were made vivid by the inner energy he seemed to nurse for the scene only, making it impossible for her to turn her eyes away._

 _Because she could understand him, he was more real than ever. And painfully distant._

Bonnie's heart aches a little. The more she reads the girl's thoughts the more she can understand, can see what she means. The fact that their lives move at a different speed, in different directions. He's a star, and his legacy will make him live forever. She's a mere assistant, and at some point he'll probably forget she even existed.

" _Today, it's been the first time you weren't here when I arrived," Allan said, walking up to her though she's been avoiding his eyes most of the time as he sat in the chair next to the director._

" _That felt wrong," he added, offering a gentle smile, and she blinked, because now it was so easy to see the emptiness behind it. She genuinely wondered how it was possible he could get hired to act._

" _My job description has changed," she informed him, keeping her tone neutral. She still felt nervous in his presence, but now she wasn't supposed to jump at every command he gave and this made her feel more in control. She still needed to be on his good side, though, to avoid future problems, but she was out of reach for now._

" _You got a promotion?"_

" _You could say that," Damon said, behind her. She struggled to not jump and keep her façade as she observed Allan's reaction. "I'm the Gold Update of mankind. The Hollywood Prime Membership," he added before winking down at her._

 _Bonnie shot him a look, like she was asking him, 'seriously?' and he chuckled at that. Her heart trembled a little – she probably needed a coffee. She only had half cup that morning. Yes, it was surely that._

Bonnie yawns, and pulls the blanket up to her chin. It would be the perfect moment to go back to sleep. She feels a bit drowsy. She could try and rest now. Her arms and hands are numb from holding up the book for so long but just one more page, she bargained with herself for the umpteenth time. Just one.

And that single page became six, and it isn't that interesting because they are talking about work and scripts and details, and Bonnie spent two of those pages on the phone with Damon's agent. A woman, because of course he'd have a woman as an agent. And Bonnie is about to put down the book when Damon enters the scene again and she just can't leave him hanging.

Okay, she'll stop reading the moment Damon is out of the scene again. Scout's honor.

" _She said she's pushing for a more romantic shooting, and she hopes you'll prepare accordingly."_

 _Damon moved the neck of the juice's bottle away from his pinkish lips before he could take a sip, made an annoyed face as his hands carefully closed the cap, and threw it at his back. The bottle fell easily into a bin that was a couple of steps away from his chair. "I need coffee," he said, "Black. And skittles." he added, grimacing._

" _I don't understand, you said you had to detox and—"_

" _I will draw a picture for you, innocent soul," he interrupted her sternly. "By romantic, she means half-naked. And I'm putting in the half because I'm an optimistic fella," he sighed._

" _What does that have to do with your diet?" she asked curelessly, hoping he wouldn't make fun of her ignorance. He seemed too busy hating the new turn the photo shoot had taken to do that._

" _I'll tell you what that means," he decided, "I'm very much into thriller movies at moment, I have my fair share of action, and the only vaguely romantic thing I've ever played was a gay boy in a cynical depiction of the young American society a few years ago, so you see… I get cast for a certain type of role for which I eat the right stuff, do the right exercises—you know, pull ups and press ups and dips and all that jazz—so basically I'm fine for a shirtless scene anytime the director asks me for one," he explained. "Theoretically. Because then you have to dehydrate yourself, so you'll lose liquids and your skin will shrink and wrap up around your muscles fiber," he added with an almost comical rhythm "Enters coffee and skittles. My sole aliments for the next foreseeable future. "_

" _Well, you add the diet of a child with an attention deficit disorder to the personality of one," she deadpanned, and though it seemed a bit mean to rub salt into his wounds it seemed to make him look at it from a different perspective, because he grinned at her._

" _Thank you very much," he offered, sarcastically._

" _My pleasure," she replied._

" _I don't doubt it."_

They have such a rhythm in their interaction, it's like they click, like they _belong_ , not in the forced, predictable way two leads sometime do, and Bonnie is elated with the bubbling emotion that she feels moving in the pit of her stomach, like it happens when your secret crush accidentally touches you.

 _The back seat was covered in scripts he needed to check to choose his next project, but from the moment Damon had donned the dark sunglasses he had ignored the mess he had made to rest his head. Filming had gone beyond the predicted hour – like sometimes happened – and he was taking every chance he got to have a little sleep. His palm rested over his stomach, and she knew he was probably having cramps because of the caffeine. His stomach had protested a couple of times in her presence, and he had ignored it in favor of work._

 _Now there wasn't much distracting him, and she saw his hand giving a hard rub over the band of his jeans._

" _You'll pick a romantic movie, next?" she asked, hoping she was doing the right thing engaging him in conversation._

" _Probably," he answered curtly._

" _You don't like them?"_

" _I'm quite pretty," he said with no humility, rubbing her the wrong way. "Blood and soil help disguise that," he added, "I want people to look at me a see a good actor, not a pretty face." His own recognition of his good looks suddenly seemed to make much more sense._

" _You can be good in a romantic movie, too."_

" _I suppose. Sharon says that if I pick one more thriller I'll never get out of this typecast and that could be detrimental for my career. Fleshing out the female fantasy could be a real boost."_

" _So go with romance," she suggested, emphatically. "No one accused Leonardo Di Caprio of being too pretty to be a good actor."_

" _Leonardo Di Caprio lucked out._ _He made Romeo + Juliet, and Titanic," he protested "I need to find the right role. The movie needs to be the right one. The female lead needs to be the right one. I don't think Kate Winslet has a free slot," he joked, "God knows if you pick two people with no chemistry, no soundtrack or lighting can save you, and people will remember you as the cardboard cutout of a human being pretending to be an actual human being who liked another human being, supposedly because she has tits."_

 _Bonnie grimaced at the crudeness, but she could see his point. And when the morning after she watched him steal looks at his counterpart she guessed his thoughts. Though, a small part of her was wandering if he was in awe at her milky beauty._

 _Her skin was so candid, so white, she could disappear inside the plain bathrobe._

 _The first pictures were expressionless. She was half reclined into a tub, wearing jewels and bubble bath, and Damon looked like the hot plumber every woman dreamed to find at her door, and at her service. What kind of service they were implying when they made him kneel at her side as she looked away, she didn't want to know._

 _All in all, the pictures were beautiful, she realized as she stole glances at the camera every time the photographer stepped away to give them new directions. The poses were plastic and sexy._

 _The shooting was going well and Damon was dressed, though a little disheveled. Bonnie sat in a corner, answering messages, reading e-mails and confirming his updated filming schedule until they didn't call a break to change the setting._

 _Bonnie stood from Damon's chair but he just used one hand to press down on her shoulder and made her sit back again. The warm skin of his hand burned thought the fabric of her blouse._

" _I need to brush up the scenes for tomorrow," was all he said, bending his neck a little to read over her organizer._

" _Damon," a guy called, as he came over, "You need to get changed," he said, handing him a pair of blue jeans and nothing else._

" _Yeah, sure," he turned towards Bonnie to wave the clothing item in front of her, "Romantic," he said, walking away._

 _Five minutes later Damon was in front of the lens, holding his co-worker with one arm across her back.—pale skin against pale skin in a soft embrace that lost shape against the white at their backs._

 _Both followed every instruction, to the letter, but the photographer seemed to want to push more and more, though in what direction she couldn't even guess. At some point he started to look satisfied enough, giving encouragement, and praising the models work, so Bonnie guessed they were about to be done for the day. And it wasn't even four in the afternoon, so maybe they could have the rest of the day off._

 _She and Damon were workaholics in their own fashion, but she was set on having him take any chance he got to rest, from now until his next free day. She was hopping around, impatient to go, as Damon studied the pictures from the screen of the camera, discussing the shots with the photographer._

" _She won't like them," Damon simply stated._

 _The man hardened his face at that, before conceding, "I know."_

" _Good. Because this stuff falls flat," he added, crossing his arms over his naked chest, "I mean, I like the handyman thing. Candice was stunning, and just bitch enough," he said, like he was paying her a compliment. He probably was, considering the concept of the shooting. "We can sell that. But the lover's stuff completely lacks energy, sexual or otherwise."_

" _I thought the idea was simple enough to build on it, but maybe we needed different scenery—"_

" _Or a different color," Damon suggested, massaging the base of his neck._

" _You mean the lightening—"_

" _No," he cut him off, "I mean a different color," he insisted, walking towards Bonnie, grabbing her wrists and practically dragging her along in front of the camera. He pulled with force, making her chest slam against his own, and held her tight, before turning his face towards the photographer, to clarify. "Look at this now," he said, cupping her face with a large hand, to show the stark contrast of his marble skin against her caramel one._

 _The man rubbed his chin, and looked thought his lens, studying the picture the two made together._

 _Bonnie's eyes were wide open as her heart started beating madly behind her small ribcage. She tore her green eyes away from Damon's profile, away from the hard angle of his sculpted jaw, and counted the seconds he would decide he could let her go._

 _She saw the photographer nodding his way and she thought it was done. The point was made. She would have her space and her breath back._

" _I need to take a couple of shots to make them see we need to go for a recast," he explained, euphoric, "This will look splendid," he declared, thrilled, "Please, someone help the girl take off that horrid blouse!"_

"What? _" Bonnie half shrieked, going stiff like she was trying to go unnoticed by the predator that was hunting her down. "I don't think this is necessary" she said, as she slipped from Damon's hold._

" _Oh, it's essential. Indispensable. Imperative—"_

" _Yeah, yeah, we got the point, Francois," Damon interrupted, "She's an assistant, not a model. She'd rather dig herself a tunnel like a mole, then be noticed by a human being, and you're asking her to take pictures in front of a bunch of strangers while she's half naked," he explained, making her feel like she was naked already. "Just let's take five, okay?" he asked, trying to not give away his annoyance before sighing._

" _Listen up, Bonnie. I know you didn't sign up for this," he said, lowering his tone, and trying to look her in the eyes though she escaped them like the plague, "But they are just a couple of shots. We'll be the only ones to see them," he added, holding her chin between two fingers to guide it up and make her look at him "Well. Us and Anna Wintour."_

" _Oh my God," she was about to hyperventilate._

" _Nope, calm down," he insisted, lowering his face towards hers. "Breathe. It's okay. I'm here. Breathe," he said, unaware of the way he smelled. Of the way she would feel if she breathed deep enough. "I promise I'll guide you through it. Leaving your shell for a little while won't be so bad." He whispered, "Take a chance, Bon. Huh? What do you say?" he asked. "Can you do this for me?"_

 _And what if she could do anything for him? She thought to herself, scared._

When she falls asleep, curled on her side, her cheek resting over the page, crumpling it, Bonnie dreams of a husky voice. _Take a chance, Bon. Huh?_ He asks, pinkish lips brushing against the flesh of her earlobe as they speak to her, commanding the attention of something inside, like the Pied Piper. The feeling warm and liquid, dripping down into her.

#

 **Note:** I usually witch fiction after every update but lately I'm just into this story. Maybe I just need to let go of my angst for a bit. I hope you don't mind. Please try to support me, thought your reviews and/or with _coffee_ (link in my bio). I hope you enjoy.


	5. Chapter 5

_**Note:** _I'm really sorry for the long absence, it's a very stressful and busy moment for me. I don't know when I'll be able to sit and write again, but I wanted you to have something bamon and light to read while you're enjoying your summer. Please support me, leaving a review and/or buying me a coffee. I'll be grateful either way.

#

 _Her fingers gripped the edge of the robe they had given her to put on as a blonde man with an Australian accent guided her firmly towards the chair, the bright bulbs around the frame of the square mirror was doing nothing to encourage her to look at her scared reflection._

" _Here, honey," he said with an affectionate, almost saccharine tone, rolling an eye shadow brush between his skilled fingers, holding her chin up to better look at her features. "You must be so excited. I know I am," he uttered with a bubbling voice, making a little shimmy movement with his shoulders, "This is very Cinderella-like."_

" _Not really," Bonnie objected, reasonably, "I'm only being used as a guinea pig to make a point, and once they do, they'll move on to the professional princess and make the real thing," she explained as he traveled her face with a micellar cleansing towel he took off the lilac box on the table in front of her with an abrupt, accustomed movement._

" _Yeah, but…you're here," he said, turning the chair so that she was facing her image directly, "being pampered by me," he added pointing the eye brush towards himself, "and you're going to be held in the spotlight, and above all, held by Damon Spada. In the flesh, and by that I mean, he'll be only wearing his own flesh, at least from the waist up. I mean, that guy makes my hormones race like green lights at the Grand Prix," he said, sighing. "Not that I know anything about races but I can learn if he asks me," He took the white bottle of eau thermal to spray her face with it. She closed her eyes on cue, trying to relax under the soothing unscented mist, and hoping it would bring down the rising temperature of her persistent state of panic. All this talk about Damon's sex appeal and the close contact she'll probably have to have with him is making her tizzy, and she needs to rationalize this, diminish it, even ignore it if she can._

" _I'm his assistant," she half protested, opening her eyes to see the guy dab her cheeks with a hydrating cream with a pinkish tint to it._

" _Try not to rub it in, Missy," he giggled, rolling his eyes like one of the most popular girls in high school._

" _That's not what I was doing at all," she replied, slightly frustrated._

" _Then you're stupid," he dead-panned, "And I'm Ryan, by the way. I'm going to give you the royal treatment, sweetie. What color are you?" he asked, cocking his head to the side to observe her. "I believe you're a 10 for Giorgio Armani," he said, without waiting for her reply. She had stuck to the same drugstore foundation since she was a teen, and it seemed so pointless to try and treat herself to something more luxurious when she was so unable to compete with the pretty girls she was surrounded with every day._

 _He pressed on the pump to take a dab of foundation to the back of his hand and used a fat base brush to spread the product along her jaw line, tickling her nose with the fresh, flowery smell of the foundation, and he smiled at the perfect match. "I knew it. I'm like the Leonardo of the makeup room," he congratulated himself, as he continued on. "And you are such a pretty canvas. You're a real waste behind the lens, you know that?"_

" _You're good at the pep talk," she said, avoiding having to dwell on his compliment. She didn't want to count on her looks to get ahead in her life, she has always told herself, but maybe the truth was that she didn't want to count on something that wasn't there at all._

" _I'm good at life," he replied with a wink, making her smile._

Bonnie smiles too, reading his line as she sips on her tea, but the sound of Caroline's voice calling for her as she walks towards the kitchen almost makes her spit it out. She half chokes on the tea and watches one drop land on the page, wetting it.

"Guess what," her friend says, appearing in the doorway as she hides the book under the table, on her lap.

"What?" Bonnie asks, covering her mouth with the tip of her fingers as she tries to swallow what's left of the warm liquid in her mouth.

"We're having a party this weekend and it will be _so_ much fun," she announces, opening her arms as paper bags dangle from both of them. "This town is so lucky to have me," she decides.

"Aren't we all?" Bonnie replies, taking another sip of her tea. Her breakfast went on longer then it needed to because she was too busy reading.

"You slept in?" Caroline notices, "Don't tell me you've spent the night on your books," she warns her, pointing her closed fists on her hips.

"Nope," Bonnie denies, though she had her fair share of reading, "I went out for drinks with Damon."

"Okay, fair," she concedes, rolling her eyes, "I mean, I still have to get used to this _thing_ , but whatever, you two _work_ , though in an pre-apocalyptic sort of way," she explains with a shrug.

"I'm sure Damon will be thrilled to know he has your blessing," she grins.

"It's more like _charity_ ," she explains, sitting at the table with her, "But enough about this lame subject," she decides, "We need to go out for shopping."

"I've never heard this before," Bonnie comments sarcastically.

"Didn't I tell you?" Caroline asks, "We are having a masked party and you're forbidden from wearing the umpteenth witch costume."

"But—"

"I'll set it _on fire,_ " she threatens her with a very serious face, raising her index finger in front of her face, "You need a change."

"Okay," she concedes, hoping in the back of her mind that capitulating to her wish will shorten the discussion and let her go back to her reading. It's so embarrassing to be so drawn to such a silly story, but she's enjoying herself so much.

 _When she stepped in front of the camera Damon has his back to her, letting the makeup artist give a light brush of powder on his perfect features, and she gave a peek at her back. Everyone looked professional and engaged in their task, and she could be just the same. This was work, she decided, and even if she was out of her depth she could do this. Just suck it up, Bernet._

Bonnie blinks at the surname, muttering a "What the hell" and shaking her head. This is so ridiculous she'd run to tell Caroline if only wouldn't end up backfiring on her. She would want to read the book, because it's a romance and Caroline reads nothing else, really. And because she would give her hell about the _coincidences_ and _what if it's destiny sending you a very detailed message?_ And she's doesn't need to hear that.

 _Bonnie turned her face to find Damon's eyes on her. Her skin felt hot under the lights and she pressed her hands above her breast holding the towel in place to cover her naked skin._

" _Ready?" he asked, cautious._

" _Yeah, sure," she nodded, but her nervousness was so clear it made him crack a smile. She felt resentful, tempted to bail out on them, but he continued, "I know this is hard for you, you don't need to pretend to be cool about it."_

 _Bonnie pressed her lips together, before biting on the lower lip to nod again at him. He was observing her carefully, and cleared his throat when their eyes met, "I'll guide you through it and if you're uncomfortable at all you can tell me and we'll stop, okay?"_

 _The way he spoke to her made her think about a man about to have sex with a girl for her first time, and this was a first for her after all._

" _Are we ready?" Francois asked, from behind the camera._

" _Are we ready?" Damon repeated gently, keeping his eyes on her face._

" _Yes," she said, scared but willing. In the back of her mind she thought that one day she could look back on this moment and be proud of how brave she had been, and maybe she could remember with fondness the moment she had felt like the protagonist of her life instead of a background actor._

" _We are," Damon replied with a smile, before turning towards the camera._

" _Let's do this, then," the photographer said, slapping his hands together loudly._

 _Damon took her gently by the shoulders, placing her in front of him. She was holding tightly still at the towel, the temperature and the nervousness was making her feel sweaty and gross. Could she really do this?_

" _We need to take that towel off you," Damon began explaining, the panic the words raised in her was so clear on her face that he tried to reassure her immediately. "I'm not going to see anything. We'll work on the right angle for the camera, and take it away only when we're ready, okay?"_

" _Okay," she repeated, trying to breathe in. Even short words were hard to utter in that moment, and she was just grateful for the fact he didn't seem to be pushy or annoyed by her attitude. Damon was always very bold and straightforward on the job, and the thoughtful manner with which he was dealing with her felt tender. She could appreciate it more if she didn't feel like she was at risk of passing out any moment now._

" _I need to hold you, now," he said, blue eyes looking darker than usual. His hands slid on her shoulders, pulling her towards his chest. "Could you move your arms away?" he said, head bent towards her temple, speaking above her ear. She dragged them away, the gradual pressing of their upper bodies kept the towel mostly in place._

 _His arms tightened around her, she felt the fingers of one hand spread open along her spine, the other went to the top of her back, she could guess, his fingers playing slowly with the ends of her hair._

" _This is a romantic shoot, Bonnie," he explained, "So, for a few minutes, I'll let myself fall in love with you," he said._

"Oh my God!" Bonnie starts at the words, can hear them in her mind with an intimate inflection that pulls easily at her heartstrings. The moment is so intense, so beautiful, she wants to stay in it forever, so she lingers on the same lines, over and over, wanting to capture the feeling.

She closes her eyes, feels the perfect joy of hearing Damon's voice say those words to her, before finding the strength move on and keep on reading.

 _She could hear her own heartbeat and the sound of his swallowing, and she felt like moaning out in pain. She didn't, but her eyelashes trembled as she looked in the distance._

" _This looks incredible," someone commented._

" _You don't need to be scared," he said. "You can lower your walls for a while."_

 _Someone got closer to them, trying to take the towel away, so that it wouldn't appear in the shot but Damon stretched his arm out, keeping them at distance._

" _I'm going to take the towel away now," he explained, "Don't worry," he added, and she took a deep breath, letting herself trust him, letting their chests mold together. "I'm here. I'll protect you."_

 _And she believed that he would, because for the time of the photo shoot, for a fleeting, magical moment in her life, Damon Spada was in love with her._

The emotion is so strong, the need to feel like she's cared for - cherished so dearly – is so raw that her eyes water up of their own volition, and her heart feels like it's going to burst. It's stupid, because this is not real, and this is not her, but it is so easy to lose herself in the blurred lines between herself and this lonely, scared girl she knows so well, that in a way, she _is._

" _Can you look at her?" Francois asks, and he pulled back slowly, found the manner to hold her delicately without letting her nakedness be in sight to those around them. Damon moved them so that it seemed like they were dancing, while the photographer looked thought the lens of his camera to find the right angle._

" _Yes, that's it," the man said, and they just remained still. Her mouth went a little dry from the way Damon was looking at her. She couldn't bear to look him in the eye._

" _Cherie, you need to look at him," Francois instructed, and she tried, but every time she met his eyes she felt the need to hide away. It felt good to be held the way Damon did it, but she didn't want to get confused by this moment. It was staged and constructed and once the lights went off she was going to go back to her background role, and what if a taste of this could ruin her?_

" _It's easier for women to look at me, usually," Damon considered, his words leaving her so outraged that her eyes flied up to his face immediately. He looked amused by her peeved reaction. "I know I'm not exactly on top of the list of your favorite people but I need you to love me, even just a little," he said, "Can you try?" he asked._

 _He was asking for the sake of the pictures, because it was his work to move people's feelings, but the way he was looking straight into her eyes as he said the words made her feel like something in her was quivering because of him._

" _This looks very tender," Francois commented, looking at the image on his camera. The 'r' marked by his French accent. "I like it very much. You're doing wonderfully."_

" _I'm going to improvise a little," Damon explained, before leaning in to kiss her forehead. The touch seemed to pinch her heart._

" _Beautiful," she heard, as Damon held her and guided her down onto the floor._

" _Relax, Cherie and look at the camera," the photographer said as she placed her cheek on top of Damon's chest, as he was laying down. She did so, the moment Damon's hand found her hair. In that position she could not see him look at her, but his presence felt real and enveloping, so much so that she could easily ignore everyone else, and their requests and their constant chattering about the way they looked and how good the pictures were turning out._

 _Bonnie looked up at Damon as she felt him shift, he was bending one arm behind his head. He looked down towards her, offered a grin as he said, "You're doing a great job."_

" _You sure?" she asked, turning her face to rest her chin on his chest as he kept on playing with her hair, "Because this feels so awkward, like trying to walk with two left feet."_

" _You know exactly what every man dreams to hear when he's lying with a woman," he said, making her giggle._

" _I'm sure you're used to it by now."_

" _Really?" he asked, his voice taking a fake offended edge. He hooked one arm around her back and flipped them both, making her give her a sudden shriek, so that he was on top of her. "Say that again," he dared her, as she laughed, pinned under him._

" _Damon your left arm is in the way," Francois called, breaking the moment. The way Damon's eyes sobered up made her think that maybe, for a short moment, the dedicated, professional actor she was used to had forgotten that he was actually working._

" _Sorry, Francois," he said, looking down like he was calculating the right position for his arm. Bonnie kept her eyes on his face, willing the playful Damon to come back, but he had gone back to his scrupulous, committed self until the shoot was over._

The disappointment is tangible for Bonnie, because she knows all about holding on to a hope that can never flourish, but she tries to bear it because if nothing else, this story is about Bonnie, and no one wants a romantic story where the lead never gets to be loved. She needs to wait and read on and have faith.

 _Bonnie stood next to Damon to glance at their pictures. He had his arms crossed over his chest as she kept her robe close with one hand._

" _I told you, you were doing great," he said, studying the pictures with a cool, professional attitude. Anyone else would have felt grateful for his words, but he felt suddenly so distant that it was stupidly hurting her, so she just nodded and found an excuse to get away from him. She needed to put her clothes back on, needed to put her walls back up. She needed to close this day into a box and treat it like one of those strange occurrences that do not deviate one's life path._

 _Bonnie waits for Damon to give a sign of his changed feelings but though he's kind, he's professionally so. His politeness makes her feel more like a stranger so when his agent reminds her that he's got to fly to Russia to shoot the music video for the duet of a national pop star and a newcomer she's grateful about the fact that there will be oceans between them, because at least this way there will be a good excuse for the distance she feels._

" _Have you booked the tickets?" he asked, rubbing his eyes with his fingers as he sat on his sofa._

" _Yes, of course, you're scheduled to fly out in the evening. I'll take you to the airport and—"_

" _What?" he asked, looking up at her. "You think I'm going there alone?" he pressed, "You're slacking. You're already tired of your job?"_

" _I'm not slacking," she protested, outraged by his words, "But I don't speak Russian, and you need someone who does," she explained._

" _I'm the one who decides what he needs, and I don't like new faces. My life is enough of a revolving door as it is, so you're stuck with me. And on set everyone will be speaking English anyway, so no need to play humble."_

" _Well, not everyone has an ego of your size. I'll have to book a second seat just for it," she protested._

" _You can do just that, when you book the seat for yourself." He agreed with an irked grin._

"Back to square one," Bonnie mutters, "With sexual tension on top," she adds, turning the page. But the cellphone ringing calls for her attention.

"What now?" she asks, reaching out for the infernal device. She just managed to dodge a shopping session with Caroline because she needed to see the twins. Can the world let her read in peace?

Maybe the world can, but Damon can't, it seems.

"Bennett babysitting services, speaking," she sighs, answering the call.

"That's a porn movie I know I would watch," he decides.

"I'll pretend you didn't say that."

"Oh, prude," he laments. "Actually, has anyone ever told you that all this shyness is quite enticing? It's the reason why the innocent school girl fantasy is still so popular. It makes us perverts want to be the one to lure you to the sinning side."

"So if I stop being embarrassed by your random sexual remarks you'll stop actually doing them?" she asks, curious.

"Nope."

"That's truly enlightening," she says, rolling her eyes. "Can we go straight to the point now?"

"Foreplay is important," he protests, almost whiny.

"If you ask me what I'm wearing I'm going to hang up on you, Damon."

"You really make me work for it," he replies, and she must stop herself from chuckling at his stupidity. She resorts to covering the speaker as she waits for him to tell her the reason of his call.

"I was thinking I could stop by the grocery store, buy something delicious so we can cook together, maybe let my brother and that blonde nuisance that follows him around have a sniff at it if we feel magnanimous."

"Is this your way of proposing we stay home and dine all together?"

"Maybe?"

"That seems like a good idea."

"I'll be back in an hour. Wear your sexy apron for me."

"I have no sex—" but he's already hung up, so she's left staring at the phone with a silly smile on her face.

"Idiot," she mutters, feeling her cheeks warm and pulling.

 _Russia was stupidly big and stupidly cold, and she hated it. Okay, not exactly. Maybe she would have liked it way more if Damon could manage to be less intolerable, but he was so focused, and so inflexible on every little detail that it was making the whole experience awful. She had actually been excited at the idea to visit a few places, if they could manage to spare some time, but the more the shooting went on, the more the plan seemed unlikely._

 _The moment someone from the set spoke to him he was the very picture of zeal and availability, adjusting himself to every change and every need, but the moment she came into the picture he became all hard angles and a general pain in the ass._

 _The moment she entered his hotel room he was constantly freshly bathed and ready to take on the world, while she had to deal with the residue of the jet leg and the constant "Girl" everyone uses to address her – and any woman under seventy - which is kind of weird._

 _The outside scenes looked so pretty and pristine she would have never guessed that the freezing cold was biting at the actors' skin, if she hadn't been outside with them. She was lucky enough to be able to wear a winter coat, but Damon was in an elegant suit and wasn't even batting a lash. She was actually wondering how he could manage without a sneeze._

 _It took them four days to complete the shooting, because the singer Damon was mainly paired with – a blonde doll with legs longer that she was in total – could not act to save her life. Well, Bonnie thought she couldn't sing either, but there was a chance she wasn't being completely fair towards her. Anyway, the point was that at the end they had decided to cut most of the outer scenes, keeping only those where Damon had to help her out of a limousine and into the mansion. It turned out she was much more convincing when she was supposed to make eyes at him._

 _All Damon's good disposition seemed to flee out the window when they moved the shooting inside. He seemed generally tenser and when the female singer kept moving the wrong way during one of the many sensual moments in the video he decided that he was done for the day. It was a hassle, and it wouldn't have been a real problem if at some point, in the last days, Damon's agent hadn't showed up; but she had, and in the place of the driven actor ready to jump at any occasion to prove his worth she had found someone that was fed up with the unprofessional attitude of a newcomer that was too busy asking for attention to work properly._

 _On the phone Patricia Alboran was always rushing towards the next appointment and they had never had a proper conversation, but her soft appearance and her grey hair had made Bonnie think of her as maternal, in a way. It was an understatement to say that she was not. At least, not towards her._

 _One moment the filming was proceeding, the one after Damon was walking past her and away from the set, and she found herself getting the shorter end of the stick, for a change._

" _You come out of that trailer without him and I'm getting you fired," Patricia threatened, "If you think I can't, think again." And it was so clear that she meant it, so final her statement, Bonnie could not bring herself to utter a word. She nodded, eyes fixed into hers, before deciding, that "Yes," she could do this "okay."_

" _You have fifteen minutes." The other woman stated before going back to talk into her earpiece. Like she was about to bite off a piece of flesh from whomever had the nerve to contradict her._

 _Bonnie just stood there for a moment, gathering all her courage. Damon Spada could be the villain of the movie, but she wasn't going to let him scare her away and ruin her life. He could have a loud bark, but this was too important for her to give in to his childishness. He could be rich and famous, but at the end of the day he was just a man and he was going to do his part, or God help him._

 _She stormed into his trailer without so much as a knock on the door, startling him._

" _What the hell, Bernet_ _!" he bowled out at her, looking at her over his shoulder, horrified. "Get out, now!" She could only see his naked back and the way his jeans fitted him, not quite so perfectly, around his hips._

" _Don't you dare yell at me!" she protested, stomping towards him, "You're going to get me fired, one way or the other so I don't care what you have to say. You are going to do what I tell you to, today or else—"_

 _What stopped her was the movement of his arms, giving away the fact that he was zipping up his pants while she was approaching. She had been too distracted by her anger to even realize what exactly she had just walked on._

" _Or else what?" he asked, turning towards her with a furious look and an evident bulge in his jeans. Her eyes fell on it unintentionally, as she kept trying to fixate her eyes on his face, failing every time. The whole situation was too stunning for her to be able to be her rational self about it._

 _She swallowed the knot in her throat, trying to not let his eyes scare her into looking away._

" _You have a job to do, and I have to make sure you do it," she stated, coolly, trying not to give away the state of her nerves. She was slightly shaking._

" _Well," he piqued, maniacally "unless the job description calls for me going balls deep into a willing woman, then I think we're stuck," he finished angrily, frustrated by her professional attitude in the face of his distress. After a week of vivid dreams only to wake up alone, he was unable to keep his blood from boiling at the mere sniff of vanilla, and it was becoming exhausting._

" _Well," she piqued back, "you have fifteen minutes. And a shower. I suggest you do the math," she tried to paint a clear picture to him, without having to actually put together the words to suggest he just go masturbate in his private bathroom while she waited for him on the sofa he kept for guest visits and journalists._

" _I did that already. Three freaking times, today," he spelled, almost venomous, using his large hand to cup himself over the jeans as he tried to highlight the concept. "All I'm going to get with this is pneumonia!"_

" _If you don't go out and film this they're going to kick me out!" she yelled, trying not to sound as desperate as she was._

 _He gritted his teeth, pushing his long fingers in his black hair, almost pulling them off the skull, "This is rich!" he protested, "You think I don't want to do my fucking job?"_

" _I know you take your job very seriously," she tried to respond reasonably, but even if they were stuck at an impasse she couldn't be the one to give in now._

" _I do," he growled at her._

" _I do, too," she bit back, "But you are going to still have a job tomorrow if you don't leave this trailer and decide to call it a day. The same doesn't apply for me. I don't have people wanting to pay me just to smile on top of a magazine's cover. You see where I'm going with this?" she asked, knowing that under his annoying pretty face, and his despicable attitude, there was something deeper, someone that had cared enough to save her from one bad situation after the other._

 _Damon smirked bitterly, opened his arms in surrender, "What do you expect me to do about it?" he asked, vaguely motioning towards his ill-concealed erection, sounding like a smart-ass, looking at her with his furious eyes._

" _Well, would masturbating be of any help?" she suggested, trying to sound clinical and practical about it. Like it was one of those boring duties one must go about during the day, like paying the bills or shopping for tampons. Not that Damon could have any experience of the latter._

 _Her suggestion seemed to give him pause for a moment – she could understand why, something in her head was screaming at what she had just told him to do – he licked his lips, shortly eyeing her from head to toe while she concentrated her attention on a spot on a picture attached on the mirror behind him._

" _Maybe," his voice was hoarse, tempting her to look down again. She didn't._

" _Good," she replied with a nod, reluctantly looking at his face._

 _Seconds went by as he waited for her to leave him alone to fix it and be ready to roll, but she just stood there, and all she did was cross her arms under her breast._

" _Well?" he asked, expectantly._

" _Well, what?" she asked back._

" _Are you going to leave?"_

" _Patricia told me that if I leave this trailer without you I'm fired," she replied with a shrug, voice faltering as she realized what she was asking him to do._

" _You're going to be here while I jerk off?" and his voice was hoarse again, hot, making her stomach drop almost violently. Breathing properly was suddenly getting troublesome, and she felt a bit weak._

" _You can pretend that I'm not," she tried suggesting, though she knew how idiotic that sounded. Still, she couldn't leave. She really, truly couldn't._

" _That's hard," he replied, and her eyes went there because of the automatic connection his reply provoked. He grinned at that, clearly amused, while his stress diminished and hers spiked up. She took her eyes away, annoyed, and sighed._

" _Listen, what if I go outside and tell Patricia—"_

" _That I'm in here beating my meat?" he filled in, crudely, giving her a clear mental image of what he was about to do. His hands were large – a part of her wondered if he could be tender with those hands, if he would be aggressive – and probably other parts of him were large as well. Still, it wasn't the time to think of that, it definitely wasn't the man._

 _Damon was clearly frustrated by the situation, by the limited options they had, by the fact that she could still not decide if she was disgusted by him or not, "That would be great. Thank you. Maybe it will take two whole hours before word gets out and I make the headlines with this."_

" _People do masturbate!" she protested, more at the fact that he was right that at his logic._

" _But that usually does not qualify as break time cause in a contract!" he yelled back._

 _The heated conversation was becoming more ridiculous by the minute, and there weren't many left for her to fix the situation and make him get back to work. She was hoping that talking to her could be of distraction enough to make the bulge be a little less evident, but the moment she looked down again it seemed to have grown larger instead._

" _Oh my God," she whined, "Why isn't it getting better?"_

" _For any other woman's standards… it actually did," he replied, smug even in his frustration._

" _Whatever" she replied, turning around to give him a little privacy, "Do it," she commanded, tapping her foot down nervously, hoping she would be able to cover the sound of him pleasuring himself that way._

" _You're not really suggesting that I—"_

" _Masturbate while I wait here?" she finished, saying the words with the purpose of waking herself to that reality. Yes, Damon was going to rub himself in the next room, maybe use his fist, or a wet cloth – and she really did not need that visual, she reprimanded herself silently._

"Oh God," Bonnie moves her hands to cover her mouth and suffocate the sudden shriek she can't contain, only to foget entirely about the book she's holding, which falls so quickly it hits her on the nose. "Fuck", she's vexed and wired and her heart is beating a mile a minute. In a rush, she sits up on the bed, the offending object falls and closes, leaving her to stare at the cover.

"Is this about to happen?" she asks in a whisper, both horribly scared and terribly excited at the prospect. Not for herself, of course, but for paper!Bonnie. She's not invested in this story, and she's not about to get aroused because of a fictional sex scene with probably some very mechanical act with no substance and no care for the character.

It's probably going to be one of those things where the girl is a fragile creature that begs the big macho man to take her because only he can fulfill her needs.

Yeah, she should prepare herself to be disappointed and lose interest in the story altogether.

Bonnie calms herself down, playing coy though she's alone in her room - like she can fool herself - and tries to find the page where she interrupted her reading.

" _Masturbate while I wait here?" she finished, saying the words with the purpose of waking herself to that reality. Yes, Damon was going to rub himself in the next room, maybe use his fist, or a wet cloth – and she really did not need that visual, she reprimanded herself silently._

" _If that's what you need."_


	6. Chapter 6

_The silence seemed to stretch forever between them before he spoke again._

" _What if I need more?" he asked gravely. It made the breath catch in her throat. Her brain refused to catch up to his words She couldn't quite understand them._

" _I'm not trying to sexually harass you, here," he tried to explain, "Though I know that if you should recount this even to a mediocre lawyer he'll still see this as a good cause for a lawsuit. I would agree. I'm in a position of power and you're not," he said, while she stared at the door that could take her out of the trailer. "So, it fits the criteria and if that's what it feels like for you, you can walk out of here and explain to Patricia what's wrong with me, today. You can call the magazines yourself; so, if you get fired, you'll still have a check at the end of the day," he suggested, "But if you want me to do what you asked me to do, then... I need more."_

 _Bonnie turned slowly, unsure about what she was supposed to do, unwilling to admit to herself what she wanted to do._

" _What do you mean with… 'more'?"_

 _He looked surprised that she had asked, that she was open to the possibility, but not repelled by her attempt at meeting him halfway._

" _My job is all about feelings, about getting to know someone and letting their sensations take over…" he explained, "I can't just tug at my dick and be done with it. It doesn't work that way for me. I need to be really into it, and I can't do that if I have someone watching the clock and timing me, you understand what I mean?" he asked._

 _Bonnie only nodded. The fact that it wasn't so mechanical for him, that he needed to take his time, make the experience more personal, squeeze every drop of pleasure out of it, and that he was explaining himself to her, made him feel more human. More human, and more enticing. And close._

" _If this has got to be fast then I need some sort of connection..." he began, observing her as he tried to detect any hint of fear or discomfort, "Maybe the smell of a woman would be a good start…" he tried suggesting._

 _She was embarrassed to ask but did anyway, because if he could be man enough to voice his needs like this for her, then she was woman enough to push past her insecurities._

" _Would I do?" she asked, almost timidly, a stark contrast with the girl that had barged into his trailer just a few minutes ago. He wasn't sure which one he liked more, it was a toss._

" _Yes," Damon said, earnest, "you absolutely would."_

 _The tone of his voice, the way he was looking at her, suddenly made her feel like she liked who she was, immensely. Almost as much as he liked it. It was a strange, exhilarating feeling that made her tremble lightly._

 _Bonnie walked towards him with a light step, like the heat in his eyes had burned away years of chipped self-confidence, of relegating herself in a corner to never try to be more than she was. The good friend, the shoulder to lean on, the resourceful one other girls counted on to get home safe when they drank too much._

 _She stopped a short distance from him, and all he had to do was lean in and smell her if he wanted to. She turned around and waited to feel him get closer, closing her eyes to protect one last shred of herself._

 _She felt his nose hovering over her as his fingertips pushed her hair away from the curve of her neck. He was reverent in his approach and she felt nervous, excited, willing. She felt the temperature rise in her skin, her cheeks heating at the thought of doing this with him. The towering presence of Damon behind her made her feel the intense desire to feel his solid body against the length of hers._

 _She felt his nose nuzzle her hair and one hand grip gently her shoulder, as she waited to hear the zipper go down. Instead, he tore himself away abruptly._

" _No, this is wrong," he said, shaking his head. "What the fuck is wrong with me?"_

 _She turned, disappointed and alarmed, "You said—"_

" _You're letting me use you to keep your job," he reasoned, aloud, conflict and desire clear on his face. "This is not my thing. I am supposed to protect you," he protested. She thought that promise would hold up only the time of the photoshoot, but he had taken it to heart._

" _I'm okay with this," she said weakly, shaken by his behavior and by the urge she felt to make him feel good._

" _You're not," he contradicted her._

" _I am," she insisted by default. And maybe she truly was, the thought flashed in her mind._

" _I won't make you—"_

" _I'm your assistant," she protested with more passion, looking up into his eyes and grabbing the waist of his jeans, pulling and popping the button free. Her action seemed to push him into a stupor and he stood there as she used the back of her hand and then her palm to caress the inside of his thigh, over the fabric of his jeans. "So let me assist you," she added, almost tenderly._

 _He stood still and looked down at her hands when he felt the slow pull of his zipper._

" _What are you…" the words seemed to die on his tongue when she used her hand, hesitantly at first, slipping it inside to pull him gently out, using the free hand to push down his jeans and make space to let his length jut out. He was veiny and long and as big as the molded fabric had given away as they were fighting._

 _She couldn't begin to understand how this had happened, but it was not a moment to understand. Right now, she could just feel, and later, she could tell herself that she had behaved like her usual overachiever self, like a very good assistant and so their relationship could still be considered strictly professional, in spite of the fact that she had had her hands about his member and the fabric of her panties was now damp with arousal._

 _Bonnie saw the muscle of his lower abdomen retracting at the contact, making the V that led down to his girth become more pronounced. He was trying to control his breathing, his reactions; his hips instinctively followed her hand when she drew back. She heard a guttural sound, and her gaze went up to watch the Adam's apple bobbing up and down his throat, the look in his eyes so intense she thought she was going to melt. He was tense, and lean, and warm and perfect._

 _She was not very accustomed to this kind of foreplay, but she really wanted to make it good for him – felt the need to give him pleasure, not just relief – so she moved slowly, touched him reverently, feeling sensual at every tiny reaction he rewarded her with. She tried to use one hand along his length, while the other cupped his shaft to fully stimulate him._

 _His hands gripped her sides as her hand worked him, and he bent over her to brush his nose against her temple and inhale the smell of her skin, of her hair, as he moaned as quietly as possible against her ear. It was making it all the more intimate, somehow so important, and it felt scary and beautiful at the same time._

" _Does this feel good for you?" she asked, trying to shift the situation back where it had started, at her helping him out with a practical problem that accidentally was about sex, but her voice was feathery and loving and it made him grin down at her._

" _Yes," he assured her, "yes," leaving a peck on her cheek, and then another, and another, making her moan and close her eyes at the humid sensation. Her nipples felt sensitive and needy against the lace of her bra. Instinctively one of her hands slid down and the back of her fingers caressed his testicles. Slowly, gently, she started to fondle them, tracing them back with the tip of her nails and then caressing them again._

" _May I?" she heard him ask in a growl, and maybe she answered, maybe she didn't, she could not recall that later, for he cupped the back of her neck, grabbed a fist of her hair and gently pulled her lips to meet his own, his tongue sinking in her mouth possessively, letting her see a part of him he could not quite show without escaping both their control._

 _The hardness of his lips, the taste of his mouth, the demanding way his tongue took over made her feel concupiscent and, in her desperate attempt to show him how much she loved it, without actually using the words, she let her fingers do the talking, making a ring with her index finger and her thumb and moving it up and down over the head of his erection. His hips started to move in a pumping motion, stimulating himself with her gentle hands, letting her envision, when she looked down to watch, what he would do to her if she'd ever let him._

 _At the sight, Bonnie felt the clear clenching of her lower muscles screaming of the want she could not admit and yet, when he kissed her again - bending down on her as went after his own peak - he found no need to force her mouth open, because she needed his kiss so bad she was ready to respond to it just as forcefully. When he mimicked with his tongue the movement of his girth, she used one finger of the other hand to stimulate a piece of flesh that joined his member with the underside, "fuck" it seemed to electrify him and he used his large palms to cup her face and tell her against her lips, "I'm gonna come."_

Bonnie groans, almost painfully as she throws the book on the bed and drags herself away from it. Legs heavy under her as her heartbeat seems to drum into every inch of her skin. There's something weak, and wet in her, something that is on the verge of crumbling or exploding and just cannot because she won't let it.

She shouldn't have kept the book, she shouldn't have touched it with a ten-foot pole, shouldn't have kept reading it. The depiction of it all was so precise. She can now see it in her brain, the texture of his skin, the large pupils in his magnetic eyes, the pull of his tense muscles, her own hand about him. She raises her fists, fingers nervously stretching and closing in the air as she walks around in circles, lamenting, "Oh my God, oh my God, I didn't, I didn't." Her eyes fall on the book, her breathing becomes erratic, there's a craving gnawing at her and she needs to get rid of it, erase the last hour from her life and her brain.

Bonnie brings up her trembling hands to push away a strand of hair from her face, the same hand that touched Damon – it did _not_ , she corrects herself when she jerks at the contact, and yet it did. It seems suddenly impossible to put distance between a stupid fictional story and her own life and she groans pained at the idea that she will never be able to disentangle them. Damon is her best friend, her _platonic_ best friend, and she would _never –_ she never thought of him that way, _truly –_ she tries to convince herself. Though, the possibility was always there, staring at her back as she ignored it willingly, dutifully.

"No, no, no, no, no!" she repeats panicked, and in the sudden, visceral, violent need to deny it, she grabs the book and throws it towards the window, which opens on its own leaving her to stare at the flying object as a sudden gust of wind hits her face. The curtains flutter in the air while the window closes on its own. She clings to the abrupt, blunt sound it makes to find some comfort, reassure herself that she's cut those thoughts – those unspeakable _desires_ – out of her life.

"Bon, are you okay?" Caroline calls out to her from the hallway. Bonnie is a shaking mess, her skin is flushed and what if she can read it on her face? What if she can _smell_ it?

She looks at the keyhole, watches the knob turn, hears the sound of the locking door.

"Bon, let me in, are you okay?" Caroline asks again when she uselessly tries to open the door to her best friend's bedroom.

"Yes, yes, fine!" her voice is a bit shrill and Bonnie bites her lower lip nervously "I… I was just… trying a spell. A new one and… I… got taken by surprise"

"This is our spring break and we're supposed to rest," she reprimands "Why are you even trying spells?"

"Oh, you know…" she tries to change the subject, "Weren't you going to see the twins?"

"I did, I just got back…I need a shower."

"Me too," Bonnie mouths without making a sound. "Uh, huh. You should go ahead then."

"Are you sure you're alright?" Caroline asks again, only making her stress level fly up.

"Yeah, why wouldn't I be?"

Caroline is not convinced,"This is about Damon," she decides suddenly. "Isn't it?" she asks, making Bonnie's stomach drop so low she'll have to check the floor to find it.

" _What_?" she asks in a strangled tone. Oh my God, she wants to _die_.

"Did he ask you for a spell? Did he go and mess up with some supervillain that wants to skin him alive and you're trying to save his ass again?"

" _What_?" she asks again, relived that Caroline did not catch onto what was really happening.

"Because I would let fate run its course, if I were you."

"Nope, nothing like that. Truly. I was just bored and curious about this spell… it's not even dangerous…" she explains "I just … kinda made a rat appear out of the blue and got scared."

"Oh my God, Bonnie!" Caroline is too disgusted and too wrapped up in her own state of panic to her notice Bonnie, now. "Get rid of it!"

"Yeah, but I need to find it first, hence the locked door," she explains, feeling a bit guilty.

Today, she decides, the guilt is better than the—

 _Shame, shame, shame, shame_

Damon looks down at the stereo of his car as he keeps his fingers firmly secured around the wheel, to find the control knob of the stereo and raise the volume.

 _There a woman wants to roll, ooh_ _  
_ _I can make you shake_ _  
_ _Right through your bones_

The thud sound against the windshield of his beloved car makes him brake down to lean against the glass and check the condition of it. If there's a single scratch on his beloved baby someone is going to pay with their life, he decides, getting off the car to check the body of it. Who the hell used his car for target practice anyway?

The glass is immaculate, it seems, and so is the shiny blue hood. Well, someone just got lucky today, he decides, before seeing something on the concrete.

Out of curiosity he goes to pick up the object used to attempt to damage the integrity of his car.

"Well, everyone knows culture is a weapon but this seems like taking it too far…" he comments distractedly, looking around when he realizes someone has just thrown a book at him.

On the back there is the picture of a woman in her forties and a few reviews from different magazines and newspapers. He turns it to give it a look, and the title sounds kind of familiar. He's sure it's been mentioned before in the paper – after the gigantic disappointment offered by _50 shades of crappy inner monologues_ he wasn't planning on reading more erotic publications, but he already went through the last book he picked so why not? But he swears to anything sacred, if there's an inner goddess of some sort he's setting it on fire.

Damon shrugs and hops back in his car, distractedly tossing the book in the paper bag with his groceries.

He parks his car inside the garage, carries the brown paper bag inside the house calling for his valiant kitchen assistant, "Bonnie!" From upstairs he can hear the sound of a shower jet being turned off and he stops in his tracks to look up at the ceiling, "Hey Bonnie, we're on fire!" he tries again.

This time around he can hear the light, wet sound of her petite feet against the parquet. She should know better than to wet his parquet but he'll close an eye to it. Maybe.

"What?" she asks, hands gripping the edge of the white towel as she looks down at him from the last step of the stairs. "Can you please not cry wolf out of pure boredom?" she asks, annoyed.

Damon grins mischievously at her, taking a red, shiny apple from the paper bag, to rub it over his t-shirt and give it a bite. "You should know there's nothing _pure_ about me," he jokes with a grin as he chews on the apple.

"You know, with the right accessories you can make that look work," he considers, mouth twisting, "I was thinking… a belt."

"You don't _think._ "

"Well, not if I can avoid it. It causes wrinkles," he replies with a shrug as he tries not to stare at a drop that's threatening to roll down the middle of her thigh. "Ask my brother's forehead."

"I have to get dressed," she decides, sounding grave as she shakes her head. He usually would win a smile, or something, but it seems like she's not feeling generous today because her lips are closed in a tight line.

"Do I get to vote?"

"No," she replies hard as she turns around to go back to her room.

"I thought you'd assist me," he piques, making her stop in her tracks.

She turns slowly to look down at him, and maybe it's a trick of the light but she looks a little pale.

"What did you say?" she asks, her voice seems like it comes from far away. She's too distracted for his taste. She's supposed to be the Bonnie to his Clyde. Is she Clyde-ing someone else or thinking to?

"Care to give me a hand?" he asks, as she stays completely still, eyes wide and alarmed, like he's just asked her to be the sacrificial lamb for his nightly ritual.

In her mind a voice asks if he knows that she's read that book, if he knows how her body reacted to the image of his pleasure into her mind and into her hands, if it's written all over her face.

"With dinner," he adds, almost waving the paper bag in his arm, "remember?"

The words seem to sink into her brain with slowness.

"Yes, yes, I do remember. Of course, yes," she nods with a lukewarm smile as he racks his brain for something he did that's caused her to act strangely around him but for the first time he can't find any. "I just need five minutes to get ready, okay?"

Maybe it's just his imagination, he thinks as he watches her disappear towards her room.

Damon gives another bite to the apple, as he puts the bag on the table. The book he picked off the street is laying over his fresh eggplants, and he takes it to tuck inside the waist of his jeans, behind his back, so that he can concentrate on the vegetables he's brought. At the bottom of the bag there's a box with a boozy coffee and walnut cake for dessert. He actually wanted to buy the bourbon cake but he knew where Bonnie's loyalty were and he made a difficult choice.

Everything about Bonnie was difficult, but in a way, everything about Bonnie was easy.

He's turning the eggplants a mushroom in the pan when she finally appears in the kitchen. He's already smiling as she steps inside the large room in her slippers, the scent of her shower cream announcing her arrival.

He can hear her take the plate with the tomatoes to bring it to the counter and cut them into tiny pieces, guessing the recipe he had opted for.

"You know, if you didn't have so many dirty thoughts about me all the time you wouldn't have to take all these showers."

The sound of the breaking plate makes him turn abruptly. He can hear the hitching sound of her breath getting stuck in her throat as a splinter flies against her ankle to leave a red trail. Bonnie bends down to pick up the tomatoes but he stops her, closing his fingers around her hand.

"Don't," he says, effortlessly picking her up into his arms to make her sit on the table, "You know, if you didn't want to help me you could have said so. There's no need to attempt suicide just to escape your duties," he says as he stands in the space between her spread legs.

"I wasn't," she protests, nervously.

"Then what's wrong with you?" he asks, unable to ignore that something is off with her. If he met someone gushing blood behind them as they try to drag themselves to the other side of the street he'd just step over and keep walking. With Bonnie, he just can't let anything go.

"I just… don't feel so well, that's all," she says, weakly. Her eyes are glossy, and her cheeks pinkish and he covers her forehead with his hand to try to feel her temperature, only he was cooking so they are not a reliable means, which is why he takes his hand off and leans into her to press his lips to her forehead.

Part of her wants to push him away and tell him to stop touching her at all, but there's another part that likes it. The way he worries for her, the way he touches her, the way he _cares_. And so she just stiffens up, pulled into two directions, unable to process anything.

"Yeah," he says against her skin, "You feel warmer than your usual," he decides, before pulling away, "Just wait a second," he says, turning away to leave the kitchen.

Bonnie presses one hand to her heart, fingers inadvertently gripping her t-shirt as she tries to calm herself down _. Breathe in, breath out_ , she instructs herself, dropping her hand the moment Damon is back again. She's just grateful he hasn't caught up on the timing of her little accident. He's got such an ego that it's a wonder he didn't keep pestering her about his sexual allure, but after all, they are friends. They are _just_ friends. And they've been alone, isolated from the living world for months and nothing ever happened between them. He has no real reason to think that anything would ever happen, that she'd suddenly look at him with different eyes. That she'd _let herself_.

With the slowness of a doctor performing surgery he puts a Band-Aid on the cut she had not even noticed, his touch lingers and burns as he observes his handiwork and she tries to keep count of her own heartbeat.

Once again he slips one arm under her knees to scoop her up, "What are you doing?" she asks, as her hands grip his shoulders.

The crunching sound of the ceramic under his boots makes it obvious that he's trying to avoid having her cut herself on what's left of the plate she broke.

"We need to cook," she says, trying to regain her self control and focus on a practical task.

" _You_ need to rest," he corrects her, putting her down on the couch and fixing one cushion under her head, as he looms over her, face so close she could easily touch it. "I'll do the cooking," he adds, before pulling away. And yet, there he is, a presence so physical, so enveloping, it lingers over her skin and her clothes despite the distance between them.

"Want something to read in the meanwhile?" he asks, remembering the book tucked in the waist of his jeans, hand readily reaching back, only to let it drop away when she painfully groans a "No, please."

Damon chuckles at her reaction, "I told you not to study that hard," he says amused, the tip of his index finger gently tapping her chin as she looks at him like a stubborn child. And yet, laying there, smelling delicious, dark hair sprawled on the couch cushions as she torments her lower lips with her pearly teeth, she looks nothing like a child. He would like nothing better than to be oblivious to the reality of it, of her dips and curves and the way she turns heads though she's always too busy with something else to realize it.

He would like nothing better than to be forever unaware of what she is, of what she has become, but – even when Katherine was his purpose and Elena was his fixation, and before Rose and after every unnamed face - was he ever?

It doesn't matter, he decides, as he grins down at her, trying not to let any bitterness slip though. He'd never think of her that way, he'd never do that to her., he repeats to himself as his mind feeds him the image of Bonnie, drunk and abandoned to his care, as he towered over her in her bed just the night before, tempted to touch her in ways he should never be allowed to.

No, that was nothing. It never happened. Damon wouldn't.

#

 _ **Note:**_ The song I used in this chapter is "Shame" by Elle King. I hope you enjoyed, I'm not sure when I will be able to update and what story I'm going to update next. Please be supportive, I'll be waiting for your reviews.


	7. Chapter 7

**Note:** I got a couple of days off my (at this point countless) jobs. Are you still up to read this story? Please, if you do read, leave me a review. And if you can, consider buying me a kofi. You can find the link in my profile, or on my tumblr (paintedwithwords)

Happy reading.

She was so tense and so wrapped up inside her own paranoid thoughts, agonizing about nothing and anything that at some point she just dozed off on the sofa. She wakes up with a displeased moan as she feels something tickling the sole of her foot. She drags her foot away, muscles tensing as she moved with the agility that was imprinted into her body with every painful cheerleading training session.

She hears a chuckle and opens her eyes with a sore expression on her pretty lips, only to see Damon, beautiful, sitting on the arm of the couch, half reclined with one arm over the backrest as he looked at her infinitely amused.

On his black apron it's written _Kiss the cook_ , and a white arrow is pointing _down_.

"You live to torment me," she accuses him, feeling tired from all the rationalizing and the attractiveness he always sported so easily and without a care, but mostly feeling cornered by the memory of those words everywhere she turns.

"And then some," he agrees, "But I think you'll reconsider my way of waking you up in about half a minute," he says, winking her way as she lays on the couch defenseless, dragging her legs closer to her chest, looking so tiny and pretty. A predator would devour her whole, if the predator in question was not her best friend.

"I don't think so," she affirms, firmly, keeping her eyes on his face like a particular scene from that damned book will just play out in technicolor in front of her eyes if she looks lower than his neck. The very action of contradicting him, of denying him any sort of _satisfaction_ makes her feel more in control, more like the Bonnie that would never look at Damon that way. The Bonnie that feels nothing as he towers over her smaller frame, transporting her into a romance novel.

The way the front door slams open as Caroline barges in carrying plastic bags, announcing "I'm baaack," in an almost shrill way, unnerves her even more the moment Bonnie realizes he was actually right. She brings both her hands to cover her ears, and looks up at the ceiling in pure despair, so that when Damon stands to go back to the kitchen she doesn't see the book tucked inside the belt of his jeans.

"Bon, I found some _fabulous_ stuff for our party," Caroline announces, falling heavily on the cushions of the couch, covering Bonnie's body with all the bags she brought.

"You mean, _your_ party."

"Oh, don't worry." She waves a hand mid-air distractedly. "I'll share the merits so you'll look more interesting. I mean, you can hardly make small talk flaunting your knowledge of Latin or talking about the latest book you've buried yourself into," she says, shaking her head like she can't believe Bonnie hasn't learned a thing from her since they've been friends.

"Right," Bonnie mutters, pulling herself into a sitting position and trying to look unfazed by the mention of _the book_. It's not like Caroline knows what kind of book it is. She thinks it's academic, boring, non graphic stuff. Actually, there is a book called _Culture as a Weapon_. Just, she never thought it was a weapon quite like _that_.

"Anyway, I found this gigantic mask which will cover the hole wall…." She begins describing her vision, making a grand gesture with her hand like she's magically making everything appear out of thin air.

"Over my dead body" Damon yells, from the kitchen.

"Don't talk dirty to me," Caroline replies, before smiling up at Stefan as he follows her with a very large brown box, which he leaves on the floor next to the coffee table.

"She got you into this, too?" Bonnie asks, looking at a perplexed Stefan.

"I don't even know how she does it," he replies, scratching his head.

"I do," Caroline just smiles up at him and bats her lashes, making him chuckle. It's a charming vision, a smiling Stefan, and yet, for all his charm a voice inside Bonnie's brain is asking her, derisively, _Does he really compare?_

"You two are so unexciting," Caroline decides, pointing her finger at one first, then at the other. "You're lucky you have me," she sighs.

"Totally," Stefan agrees readily, like he's been there before and has learned his lesson.

"We'll have so much fun" the blonde girl says, clenching her fists in the air and making a little jump, before letting herself fall on the sofa's cushion "We'll invite _all_ our friends—"

"You mean all _two_ of them?" Stefan asks, not missing a beat.

She scoffs. "You guys are _eremites_ , but I do have friends…" She seems to think about it for a moment. "Well, acquaintances…adoring _fans,_ and they will come running if I snap my fingers." She raises her hand, curling her fingers in the air but the snap comes from the kitchen door, where Damon is still proudly wearing his suggestive apron and announces, "Dinner is served."

Caroline stands excited at the prospect of an Italian dinner and turns around eyeing Bonnie to share the giddiness about it. As she and Stefan walk towards the kitchen's door Damon goes into the opposite direction, offering his hand for Bonnie to take, so that she'll have someone to lean on if she feels dizzy.

He raises her chin with the tip of his finger, as he holds her hand with his free one, asks quietly, "Are you feeling any better?" as if there's any chance that the two vampires in the house won't hear him. She feels allowed to mind his tone, for it is intimate and kind of arousing. She can picture him asking, with that same tone, _"Take a chance, Bon. Huh? What do you say?"_

"Yeah, better," she answers as her skin start feeling hotter and she tries desperately to think of something gory and disgusting so that the scent of his aftershave won't make her knees go weak.

She fixes a strand of hair behind her ear and walks towards the kitchen door.

The whole kitchen smells like red wine and tomato sauce, there was a hint of hot butter somewhere too, on the table the spots of red and green seemed to come out of a painting. Everything is cozy and familiar and looking absolutely delicious. Bonnie sits as far away from him as possible without actually changing rooms.

"This stuff is pretty amazing," Caroline says, as she makes a shrill moaning sound, tasting the cream of zucchini, topped with fresh grated parmesan cheese. "I mean," she feels obliged to explain, "You are the most horrid person I know, but you are one of the best cooks around."

"How _nice_ of you," he replies sarcastically, curving his smile into a rapacious grin.

"You're welcome," she says, eyes sparkling as she watches the large plate sitting in the middle of the table where lays the hot braised beef. She unconsciously bounces her feet under the table, "I'm counting the minutes for you to inevitably screw up…" she explains, as she ardently hopes he won't start with the braised beef, "but since you're making an effort, and such a tasty one at that, I think we should all go out to a movie. Tomorrow."

She turns toward Stefan to read his approval on his face, and even should he not approve she'll just have to convince him. It's not that she's so eager to spend some time with Damon in the immediate proximity, but if he's trying to act decent and make this spring break a good one, so can she.

"You're not even asking if I'm busy?" Bonnie asks. Her first instinct when something leaves her control is to run in the opposite direction, but now the damned book is out of her life, and if she slips back into their routines – their movies, their internal jokes, their camaraderie – she can get over it faster. She can get over it, and not feel that fluttering in her stomach that makes her feel _alive_ , and go back to her well-organized, controlled, focused life.

"Pff," she scoffs, like she's just said something ridiculous. "No," she declares without raising her eyes from her plate, happily sinking her spoon into the rich green cream.

"The only thing you got to do is me," Damon says, cocking his head in her direction as he takes the plate with the braised beef to start cutting the meat. Three pair of eyes turn to him, the nuance of what he has just said is absolutely accidental, but he doesn't feel guilty about it. In fact, he just raises his head for a second and grins at that.

Caroline's disgusted face turns towards Bonnie. "I knew he was going to screw it up somehow."

"We all knew," Stefan says, pouring some red wine into her glass. "I do believe Damon screwing up was one of the Mayan prophecies," and both girls chuckle at that.

Damon opens his hand in Bonnie's direction, as he usually does when he wants her to get her plate ready, but when she does, taking the white ceramic with both hands to hand it to him, he ignores it and instead reaches down towards the leg of the chair, grabbing it and pulling it towards him. There is a gasp. The chair makes a squeaking sound sliding on the floor, the movement so fast Bonnie stiffens on top of it just when the chair is still again. Damon takes the plate from her tight hold and proceeds to fill it.

"What was wrong with where I was sitting?" she snorts, while their tablemates don't bat a lash his manhandling. Even Caroline has gotten so used to the more childish implications of their friendship that she doesn't take the chance to make a comment about it.

"Nothing, I just don't want to have to take the car just to reach your side of the table," he explains mockingly, placing her plate in front of her.

Bonnie takes the fork and knife, sitting on the sides of her plate, and Damon catches sight of a little piece of onion in her sauce. He removes it before she sees it, and pushes it on the edge of the plate.

"I wasn't that far," she insists, more out of habit than anything else. She is so used to their rhythm. It makes her feel more like herself. It makes her feel like she's not such a bad person to want to know how Paper Bonnie's story goes, for wanting to read that book that has nothing to do with herself and her own feelings and her own Damon.

Bonnie wonders where the book landed after she threw it away.

"You were so far I was considering sending you a postcard," he objects, as he finishes taking care of his plate to pass the braised beef to Caroline.

"Ugh," she just makes a sound, disappointed that she needs to fill her plate herself. Stefan interjects the plate and serves her a portion making her smile immediately.

"You used Barolo?" Stefan asks, enjoying the smell of the wine sauce.

"Of course," he replies, almost taking offence at the question, "I started marinating the beef yesterday, but since I had so much meat that I thought I could include even you two uncultured creatures in this moment of pure poetry."

"If this stuff wasn't _so_ good I'd have a clever remark right now," Caroline says, taking another bite of the tender meat.

"Good thing I can't get fat," she comments in passing.

"But I can," Bonnie cuts in, "I'll need to run a few miles to burn this off," she adds, making a circle around what she can't confess to herself. "I think I'll start with a walk after dinner, you know, around the neighborhood." And if she finds the book she has thrown she can properly put it in the paper recycling bin. "I'd like some fresh air."

"Are you still feeling sick?" Damon asks.

"I'm not sick," she reassures him, "Really, just tired."

"It's the spell, isn't it?" Caroline asks, eyeing her with suspicion. It takes a long moment for Bonnie to remember the stupid lie she made up to stop her from entering her room and realizing, someway, somehow, with her vampire senses or her Caroline senses that she had just had shameful, sinful thoughts about someone that had the name, and the face and the personality of her best friend.

"What spell? Are you keeping your bestie out of the loop?"

" _I_ am her bestie," Caroline declares.

"Sure you are," Damon agrees before turning towards Bonnie, point a finger at his own head, rolling it in the air to imply that the girl has lost it.

"I'm keeping no one out of the loop, everyone is in my loop. It was a very silly spell that has consumed none of my energy. Thank you very much," she explains, rushing to change the subject. "What movie are we watching anyway?"

"Something romantic," Caroline replies with a knowing smile.

"Historic, maybe?" Stefan suggests.

"Okay then," Damon nods, "Action it is!"

"I can only approve if there's Keanu Reeves in it," the blonde girl clarifies, pointing her fork towards both Damon and Bonnie, like she was in on it, too. Bonnie would complain, but there's nothing to complain about when Keanu Reeves is involved.

#

Damon pulls back the curtain off the window of his bedroom, watching distractedly down to where Caroline and Bonnie are coming back from their walk. Bonnie wore an oversized cardigan over her petite frame, which keeps slipping off the shoulder as usual. She doesn't look cold, but she's probably bored, considering the poor company.

He was thinking of going out, drinking a beer, enjoying some music, but Bonnie is unwell and Alaric is playing daddy – and not the fun kind of _daddy_ that he could have understood – so he decides to settle in bed and just read a little. There's _The New York Trilogy_ abandoned on his night stand. He's meant to read the third and last novel, _The Locked Room_ , a billion times, but though the writing is absolutely masterful and the kind of disquieting style he enjoys, with an evocative depiction and fluid movements, yet the stories themselves leave him unengaged, and he'd like some _passion_ in his life.

That's when he remembers that book he found in the afternoon. He left it in the large pocket of his black apron, and it's hanging in his kitchen right now.

When he walks down the stairs, and up again after he's retrieved the mistreated piece of wannabe literature he can still hear Caroline's voice telling Bonnie that she and Stefan are going to spend the night at her place so that it will be easier for her to be at Alaric's house in the morning to have breakfast with the twins.

In case the book sucks big time – which is not an option he can write off if it's anything like that pitiful, uneducated attempt at a dominant lifestyle – he can just drag Bonnie downstairs or into his room and watch a movie without vampire naggers that protest about the volume.

#

Damon settles in bed, two pillows behind his back and his naked feet crossed at the ankles. He absently scratched his bare chest with his short nails, reading the first line: _Bonnie couldn't help but think-_

He stops immediately, a little puzzled and kind of amused already. The main character has the name and – judging from the cover – the colors, of his best friend and he wants to knock at her door and pull her leg about it. Now, even if the book sucks, he has a great reason to read it until the very last page, because he'll have plenty of material to rile her up.

He can't wait _. How's your inner goddess today, Bon?_ and _Is the red hula skirt back from the laundry?_

Damon goes back to the first line. He's going to suffer through for the greater good, he decides with a grin plastered on his lips as he reads on. It's funny – _this was the first time that Damon Spada had touched her_ – until it's kinda not. Well, okay. He can still work with this. He can still make it fun. It will be a new level of embarrassment, some fake kinky stuff and improbable descriptions that will make great material for one of those _50 laughably bad lines_ lists or _the best worst lines._

 _#_

Bonnie takes a breath as she waits for her mind to relax along with her limbs. She's had a nice dinner, a nice evening and there are still a few days left from spring break for her to enjoy. She's going to rest a lot, and have fun and not think too much about duties and villains and evil creatures roaming in the night.

Still, twenty minutes after she's gotten into bed she's still wide awake. A tiny voice inside her head wondering where that book has fallen when she threw it in the afternoon, wondering what happened after _Damon_ came, asking herself if _Bonnie_ is happy at the end of the book. If she is satisfied.

She likes happy people.

She herself is too busy making schedules and respecting them, too busy saving the world one day and watching it go to hell the next to worry about being happy. To ask herself what would make her happy.

Whenever she tries asking herself that she can never decide if she can aspire to a thing as simple and as hard as love. Love is complicated, but sex is simple. And she has thrown away simple just because she was a bit embarrassed. Like someone was going to read those passages on her face, like someone was going to read what she had felt on her face.

She and Damon are fine. He's the usual asshole of a best friend she has to keep in line every day, and their relationship is so innocent even Caroline doesn't bat a lash whenever he ignores boundaries. Because she knows they love each other like friends, like brother and sister. And she got a bit confused, and she went a little into panic-mode, and she's left curious enough to wonder if the book was actually well-written, if the story added up, if _Bonnie_ got her happy ending.

She was a little on edge in the afternoon and had an exaggerated reaction to a decently written sexual moment. That happens. It doesn't mean she shouldn't read anymore. People read to feel things, to be engaged by the story and the characters, and the book did exactly that. It has been puerile of her to throw it away, and it would be very mature, instead, to finish it. Get to the last page and tell herself, _see? It meant nothing_.

Bonnie leaves the bed to pick the laptop from her toilette table, before she loses her nerve and the perfectly sensible reason she has given to herself to go and buy the book, _again_. It takes a lifetime for the damn thing to turn on, while she squints her eyes waiting for them to adjust to the bright light.

She types the website address and she's about to buy the paperback version when she realizes she can actually buy the digital version, and since she left her e-book reader in her dorm room, she can read it on her laptop, which coincidentally has a password and she will avoid anyone coming across the story.

The kindle version is $13.47 and sitting on her digital archive in less than thirty seconds.

It gives a sense of tranquility to have it at hand, to know that she can go back and finish the story whenever she feels like it. Now, without the fixed idea of it, she can fall asleep, she decides, closing her laptop and leaving it on the bed, right next to her.

Bonnie turns around, bats her pillow to adjust it under her cheek and closes her eyes happily.

It takes her exactly forty seconds to turn around and open the laptop again.

 _One page,_ she promises to herself. Really. Just _one page._

 _#_

The light is soft inside his bedroom. He doesn't need the loud, unwelcomed intrusion any other greedy reader would, and he doesn't want it. It feels like light could only bare secrets that are better off hidden.

 _When he mimicked with his tongue the movement of his girth, she used one finger of the other hand to stimulate the piece of flesh that joined his member with the underside, "fuck" it seemed to electrify him and he used his large palms to cup her face and tell her against her lips, "I'm gonna come."_

There is a groan, vibrating silently in the back of his throat. In his mind a voice says, _yes_ , approving of the first mark this fictional man is going to leave on _her_. That's animal behavior, and she's his territory. To explore and possess and take delight in.

 _She felt the cutting pain of missing his member between her legs. Bonnie whined as her sex quivered at the thought if Damon's girth, like her own body knew, even before her mind did, that her pleasure was so close, and yet so far._

 _Her pussy wanted to grip him. His handsome face, twisted by pleasure, made her tremble from head to toe with a release that found her unprepared, for she had barely been touched, and left her wide-eyed and dizzy. Damon had to hold her up against him when her knees went out under her, as she used her humid hands to grab at his shoulders, looking up at him with blinking eyes like she had just woken up from a dream._

The muscles of his lower abdomen quiver and he realizes he has stopped breathing. The pulsating need inside the bottom of his black silk pajama it's a dull proof of the ability of the writer to make the experience real and _enjoyable_. He uses one hand to press down against the muscles, to stop them from jumping at Bonnie's imaginary touch but it's practically impossible.

The mere thought of her name forces him to concentrate so that he won't let his eyes roll back into his skull. He purposely ignores his hard on, pressing the heels of his feet against the mattress, before stretching his legs out again. His erection is so insistent against the soft material that he needs to grab himself above the fabric just to find the lightest relief, just to try and stop the pumping of the blood that is leaving him helpless. Damon slaps the book on the mattress, turn his head so that he can push it down against the pillow and utters a growling sound, like a wounded animal dying an agonizing death.

He tries to stop it, the reaction of his body, the urgent need to read on and meet Bonnie's relief between the pages, but the pillowcase smells like her and to find her scent on his bed has never felt like such a betrayal. Up to now, it was a welcomed trace, the reminder that he was not alone; but now, now she's giggling at his helplessness, and though he wants to escape, his vampire senses just expand of their own volition until he can hear every drop falling from the leaking guest bathroom on the ground floor and every brush stroke of the pendulum clock in the sitting room, and every fast breath leaving Bonnie's lips as she dreams inside her large, lonely bed.

Damon can see her silhouette so clearly in his brain, even as she hides her curves and dips between the sheets, there in the dark.

He won't stroke himself, _no_ , because if he did, it would be like admitting he wants her. It would be like violating her without her consent. The response of his body is due the convincing writing, he tells himself, and it's not like he truly desires her like that. If he did, it would be wrong of him to read on, but he wants to read on. Oh, he wants _so badly_ to read on.

Damon drags his contorted face away from the pillow, ignoring the veil of perspiration over his skin, to go back at the book. His hand is not as steady as it always is. There is a shushed awareness of the ways Bonnie can shake off of him any power, but all he can think about is finding that page, of going back to her. To her hands, to her needy pussy, to the crudeness and the lust he will only connect to a fictional character, because it's the rule. Because Bonnie Bennett is untouchable.

 _Damon had to hold her up against him, as she used her humid hands to grab at his shoulders and looked up at him like she had just woken up from a dream. He breathed heavily against the skin of her forehead, letting his lips brush against it with light touches, with unobtrusive kisses, while his sex and his release was heavy against her body and clothes._

 _Bonnie closed her eyes, wishing to prolong the moment and enjoy his caresses, his strong hands around her waist, but her hands were already betraying her, they were already pushing against his chest to put space between them, hiding between the words "Work…" she said, with her labored breath "you need to go back to work before Patricia comes looking for you," licking her dry lips as she fixed a strand of hair behind her ear._

The movement brings back immediately the image of Bonnie doing the same thing. The eye of his memory so precise he can see her fingers sliding down distractedly on the skin after she did so, her nails hardly brushing against the soft texture of her dark neck. The character overlaps again with the girl he knows, with the girls he cares for, and stopping it seems impossible even to someone with his powers.

 _He was so staggered by her words, by the powerful release he experienced, that he just nodded, as his fingers twitched around her flesh, with the need to hold her some more. To enjoy her some more._

 _Damon watched as she rushed to the tiny bathroom and came back with a damp towel, so that he would be able to clean himself. She was already reaching out to do it herself when she realized the intimacy of the gesture and stopped her hands midair, choosing to hand him the cloth instead._

"You _fucker,_ " Damon groans "You _stupid_ fucker". He understands the narrative choice of postponing sex, understands this erotic mix of teasing and longing, but right now he needs for _Damon_ to show her what she really needs. He needs for _Damon_ to yank her clothes off and slide himself into her over and over again, possibly after eating her out as proper sign of appreciation.

If _this Bonnie_ is so transparent as his own, if _this Bonnie_ is half as good as his own, it should be clear by now that she is just scared of what she really wants. It should be clear by now that all she needs it to spread herself for him and let him guide her to the liberation of a long, well-deserved orgasm. Instead he's playing the good guy, obeying her like a blind, whipped man, and this is making things all kinds of _harder_.

He stands from the bed, his eyes darkened with lust as he lowers his pajama pants along the way, stepping gracefully out of them before walking to the adjoining bathroom. Damon steps inside the shower, every muscle of his body feels tense, heavy, knotted, and his erection is standing proud and uncomfortable. He looks down at himself, his darkened eyes can picture them so well—her pretty hands, those delicate fingers, reverent and shaky, reaching for his member, wanting to please him.

"Fuck," he mutters, opening the cold water jet and letting it hit his body mercilessly. He raises his head to stop having those daydreams but behind his closed lids he sees her so well. A fictional Bonnie turning to him with familiar green eyes, biting those soft lips he only ever touched with his fingers once to brush the ice-cream off them, letting that useless towel fall away to step inside the shower with him. In his head, she presses soft kisses to his spine and let the arms that encircle him slide down until her hands find the base of him, until one palm cups his balls and the other slides along his lengths and tease its head with her thumb.

Damon wants to touch himself to the idea of her, he needs to jerk off to the lingering scent she left inside his fried brain, and it's agony not to.

" _Does this feel good for you?"_ Bonnie's hesitant voice asks in the fantasy that keeps playing on repeat into his head.

He flattens his palms against the white tiles of the bathroom stall, presses his forehead against the cold ceramic, and moans, "Oh, God, _Bonnie,_ " like he's pleading wtih her to put him out of his misery.

If she walked into the room right now and killed him, he'd be thankful.


	8. Chapter 8

**Note:** I hope you'll enjoy yourself reading this new chapter, I didn't expect to be able to update again very soon but we got lucky. As usual, I would be really grateful if you'd leave a review after reading, they truly help me a lot. You enthusiasm is a great motivation for not giving up on my in progress stories. If you want and can, please consider buying me a coffee. As usual you can find my ko-fi page on my profile and over at my tumblr (paintedwithwords). And if you feel like it, get in touch, my inbox is always open to all my readers.

A big thanks to _Syeira Lei_ for being the fastest and best beta ever.

#

Bonnie reaches her hands out before she can even open her heavy eyelids, patting her bed for the laptop. She's kept her promise – well, mostly – to read just one page, but her valiant effort to get to sleep has been crushed by the need to feel the strange, unexpected intimacy she had witnessed in the early pages, and had ended up going back to read her favorite passages.

She felt excited during their first encounter, tantalized by the contradiction that he represented – so set on keeping her at distance and yet appearing every time paper Bonnie needed him. She felt moved by the way he made her feel cherished, if only for the time of a photo shoot.

And then there was that brief vulnerability, his crude arousal, their first sexual contact, which _Bonnie_ had tried and failed to keep impersonal, only to be find herself a concupiscent, quivering mess.

Bonnie can understand the exhausting need for control, the fear and the anxiety at the mere prospect of letting go, of being prey to passion. She herself is half scared as she reads about the feelings, the sensations _Damon_ sparks into someone that it's not _her_. But Damon is that, he'll make you crash and burn and go out in a glory blaze, and there's no way around it.

For a moment she wonders to which Damon she is thinking about when her mind conjures that description, but she pushes back the question before she can find herself entangled in her own rigid morals, constricted in the steely rules she squeezes herself into, and opens the lid of her laptop to write the password and go back to the file she's left open.

 _She stood still with her hands behind her back, like one of those obedient girls in boarding schools, while he walked by her to leave the trailer. He stole a glance at her, which she ignored, fixing her eyes on one point on the floor, trying not to think about the sticky feeling left on her fingers, about the way her senses are coming down from their high leaving her dizzy._

 _Damon grabbed the knob of the door but stopped, turning around abruptly._

" _Bonnie, wh—"_

" _They're waiting for you on set," she reminded him immediately, looking at him like she was begging him to please go and spare her the humiliation of the after-talk. She was over-complaisant and reckless, and now she was back inside the confines of her role, of the rules she had set for herself._

 _She escaped Allan Gunn's advances just to fall prey to Damon Spada, though he had not coerced her nor deceived her in any way._

 _Damon stood there, as she retreated into herself. He wanted to tell her not to run away, not to hide, that he would come back and they would discuss this. But she was already far away, hidden behind her carefully built walls and he knew he wasn't going to get though her, not that day._

 _Patricia looked at her suspiciously as she walked out of the trailer a couple of minutes after Damon, but Bonnie didn't look at her. The woman couldn't possibly know, or suspect, what had happened, so Bonnie marched to Damon's empty seat, and began flipping through the pages of her planner, pretending to cross out a task or note down a new one. It wasn't really easy with her hands trembling as they were and the way her eyes kept falling back to the fingers that had held him._

" _You seem to have an influence on him."_

 _Bonnie didn't know if it was her presence next to her, her voice, or the words she had spoken that had her startled, but the planner fell from her clumsy hands and she crouched down to pick it up, wishing she could just stay in that position and hide._

" _I still have to decide if that's good or not," Patricia added, looking down at her, arms crossed under her breasts._

 _What kind of influence could she have if the mere, brief sight of vulnerability from him had stripped her of any will and good sense, she wondered, standing up again and pressing the little book to her chest. The woman didn't know what she was talking about, but at least that meant that her stupidity wasn't so painfully obvious as she feared._

 _The woman sat in Damon's seat, and stuck one hand out in her direction, without even bothering to look at her. "Let me see," she said; and, in any other moment that would have felt rude, but Bonnie was just glad to not be subjected to her scrutiny._

" _Have you heard from the movie's production?" she asked._

" _Yeah, they were asking if we would be comfortable doing the photo shoot for the posters next week," Bonnie replied readily, like Patricia Alboran was one of her teachers and she was testing her to decide her final grade._

" _Good," she nodded, "I've given him scripts for him to choose the next project. Has he read them?" she asked, fishing for an answer she should have already. She was his manager, after all, and Bonnie was barely a stand-in for an assistant he was going to replace soon._

" _I believe so," she said, hoping that her lack of details would make her drop the subject._

" _Anything to his liking?" she pressed nonchalantly._

" _Why are you asking her?" Damon interrupted, appearing at her side, his tone suspicious as he takes the planner from her hands to pass it back to Bonnie. "You know what I think of romance movies, Patricia."_

 _She accepted it, keeping her eyes on his hand._

" _And you know what I think about action movies, Damon," she replied with a softer tone. "You need to stretch your range, darling." Her eyes almost imploring him._

"There's something else he should be stretching right now, if you ask me," Damon comments distractedly, turning the page.

Maybe it's an occupational hazard of sorts, but he's usually one to thoroughly enjoy the chase. Only, right now, he feels like a horse wearing blinders, like someone has put a red _muleta_ in front of his eyes and he's the bull that wants to charge the bullfighter. The fact that there is traditionally a sword behind it is a _small_ detail that does not bother him. Some things are worth dying for. Multiple times.

 _People seemed to become so malleable around him, and Bonnie hated to think she had been just one of the many won over by his charms, by those stupidly blue eyes that should belong in the face of much more unworldly, pure creatures._

" _I agreed to make a music video, didn't I?" he asked, patiently, "And in it, I'm fighting a guy for the affection of a woman," he explained. "That's romantic," he added, waving a hand in the general direction of the cameras._

" _You're fighting a man for a piece of silicone ass, if I might," she affirmed in disgust. "There's nothing remotely romantic about it," she said, rolling her eyes at the sight of the blonde girl standing still as a statue while one person kept bushing up her considerable breasts with highlighter while the other worked on her neckline with bronzer to make them appear even rounder than they already were._

" _That's untrue and incorrect," he admonished sarcastically. "The silicone has clearly been used on the front, too." He mocked. "And I'd like to remind you that you're the one that picked the video." He uses a hand to loosen up a muscle at the base of his neck. "She wouldn't exactly be my first pick as a bed companion," he commented distractedly, like he was talking more to himself than to her. Bonnie refused to let herself dwell on his words or wonder about his tastes in women. There was a list of flirts he had graced the gossip pages for, and she couldn't even list them all. She herself had served a purpose but that didn't mean anything per se. He was wrapped in the heat of the moment, she was the only girl around, and he had even tried to back off of it at some point._

" _Please," Patricia said disgusted, bringing both her hands up in the air as if to stop the upcoming images in her brain. "I remember_ all _about your last bed companion," she said disapprovingly, unknowingly making Bonnie sink lower and lower. "I picked this project for the money, because you insist on funding all those charity projects, which I admit, are good for your image, or they would be if you'd at least let word out—"_

" _Can you stop?" He interrupted her. Bonnie could see irritation on his face, but she tried to stay impassible, disinterested even. "We've been over this before. I'm not expecting a fucking medal just because every now and then I give away some money...anyway," he changed subject immediately, "Bonnie," he said, looking at her for the first time since he had stepped out of the trailer, "There's a chance the director of the video might need me for a few additional takes—"_

" _That's impossible, you have a schedule to—"_

" _I_ am _following my schedule," he cut Patricia off again, "I was supposed to rest before the shooting for the movie. I'll just rest in my hotel room..." They all knew the point of resting in Vancouver was that he was going to have the time to metabolize the jet-leg, but he didn't leave any room to protest. "…and be around in case they need me. That's what a professional would do, isn't it?" he asked without actually waiting for a reply. "Bonnie, could you reschedule our flight?" he asked her, staring at her as she nodded and scribbled down on her planner._

" _Please," he added. The inflection in his voice, just a touch gentler than was needed made her hands suddenly heavier._

 _Bonnie Bernet wasn't particularly eager to be stuck in another nation with Damon Spada, but at least she had something to keep her busy for a couple of hours, which meant she didn't need to spend them_ watching _him. She didn't have the chance to think back and agonize about what she had done, what she had_ wanted _to do._

 _She focused on rescheduling their flight instead, talking with the concierge of their five-star hotel to secure their rooms, planning his meals to maintain his diet so that their prolonged stay didn't affect his shape. She even managed to get a couple of telephone numbers to find a few personal trainers that could assist him if he so decided._

 _If the director hadn't called quit she would have actually fixed an appointment to a spa for a Turkish bath and a massage. As the screen of the laptop illuminated her face in the dark cockpit of the car, she proceeded to list all the appointments she could fill his next day with. Sitting at the opposite side of the backseat, he rubbed his temple with two fingers like there was a headache coming, and interrupted the breathless monologue that listed all of his appointments. "Actually, I was thinking about visiting the Hermitage," he said, turning his face to look out the window, catching her reflection on the glass. "Maybe the Peterhof Palace, too."_

 _Bonnie stilled her fingers on the keyboard for a moment, taken aback. Just a few days ago, when he wasn't such a hassle to handle, before they engaged in what had transpired between them that afternoon, those were the places she wanted to visit the most in Russia. After sending half a dozen e-mails, she had used his laptop to surf the net to find out the opening times and the number to call to reserve tickets and what guides were available during their stay._

" _Yes, of course," she said, her fingers hitting the keys with her usual efficiency, "I can reserve you a ticket and—"_

" _Come with me," he said. His tone wasn't particularly soft or fond of his own proposal. He had rested his cheek against his closed fist as he kept his elbow propped up at the base of the window, his eyes focused on the side of the road studying the colors of the nightclub signs like they were anything of interest. "I mean, you'll get bored waiting around for me to come back, so you might as well come."_

 _He made it all sound inconsequential, and innocent. It actually was. The idea of walking around the winter palace was already tickling her fancy but being around Damon still didn't seem like a sound idea, though she could hardly postpone it forever._

" _We won't speak," he says, trying to depict the most harmless of scenes. "We'll just walk around and admire the paintings. I don't know about you but there are some I'm dying to see in person."_

 _If they had to work together, she couldn't keep trying to avoid his company, and they needed to put what had happened behind them, forget it all, find a new balance. This was one way like another to re-start their_ professional _relationship._

 _It was reasonable to accept, and so she did, with a nod and an "Okay", for Bonnie Bernet was nothing else but reasonable._

"Finally," Damon muttered, rolling his eyes toward the ceiling. Finally, Damon Spada had managed to sneak in a date with Bonnie. "Now, make her lower her defenses and hit your target," _repeatedly_ if possible, he thinks impassioned.

The guy had managed to assemble a good plan rather quickly, it seemed, but Damon had gone to sleep with a badly-soothed hard on and as he woke up the only thing he could think of was that he hadn't made Bonnie come, not the proper way at least, and nothing was going to be good enough except for that.

The avid, selective reader in him can see how the writer is making all the right choices to keep the story engaging and the tension high, but at some point the sexual need, that was barely stroked – _no pun intended_ – and not fulfilled, that permeated the pages has become the driving force of the story, obliterating the romantic side of it.

Maybe, when he reads it again, he'll be more capable of concentrating on the nuances; but now, right now, he just wants to have someone explain to him in vivid detail how _Bonnie_ looks when she's on the verge of an orgasm. He wants to read how her fingers grip his shoulders, the way she moans his name, breathing it against his ear as she implores him to go deeper. Damon wants to fall so deep into the description of her pleasure that he's able to feel the ghost of _Bonnie's_ pussy around his cock.

Not _his_ Bonnie, _no_ , the _other one._ And if he can't picture any other pair of eyes, no other lips but _hers_ – though he has valiantly tried with no result — it's because for the damned, ridiculous coincidence that she fits the description so perfectly he can't tear her away from the written words staring up at him.

"Damon." Stefan calls from outside the bedroom door, but before he can answer he's already coming inside.

"What the fuck, brother!" Damon cries out, sliding the book under the pillow behind his back. "I thought you were supposed to be the good mannered one between us," he adds, irritated by the invasion of his space. He's never been one for boundaries, but he feels like his righteous brother has just caught him with his hand in the cookie jar. And the cookies are chocolate dipped.

"I knocked, but you didn't hear," his brother justifies himself.

Stefan looks perplexed at his reaction, and glances around the room trying to detect a feminine presence, something that will confirm him that he has just interrupted something. He would not be surprised to find a bra lying on the ground, or a pair of flimsy panties hanging from a piece of furniture. He even inclines his head to the side to try and see if there's anyone hidden under the bed, but the room is empty of any other presence.

"What are you looking for?" Damon asks, impatient to be left alone with the book.

"I have no idea," Stefan answers, hesitant, "Which tells me I should look for the worst." He watches him distrustfully.

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," his brother replies with a fake smile plastered on his face. "Have you barged into my room just to remind me of the unshakable support you offer me daily or is there something else I might do for you?"

"I just wanted to tell you that I brought the tickets for the movies, we'll meet there at seven."

"What's that? The kiddies' show?" he asks, grimacing. He has nothing against early shows. He just wants to complain so that he'll have a reason to take out some of his frustration, and since he doesn't have the author of the book at hand, his bother will have to do.

"Caroline will be there in the afternoon with the twins to watch a Disney movie so she thought she could catch the next movie with us, and not have to come back and go out again," he explains, while his wrinkled forehead tells Damon there's something he's trying to understand that he can't quite grasp. He better not.

"Are they even old enough?" Damon asks before remembering he's not interested at all. "Okay, fine," he concedes, crossing his feet under the sheets. He supposes he should be grateful that Damon Spada hasn't gotten the chance to make a move on Bonnie or the sheet wouldn't help him much concealing his happiness about it.

Stefan blinks, turns on his heels, walks to the door and then stops and turns again.

"Are you alright?" he asks, bewildered. There is definitely something happening under his nose, he just can't tell what.

"Great," Damon replies immediately. "Wonderful. Just peachy." _I just want you to leave me alone so I can make Bonnie come_ , he thinks, immediately kicking himself mentally.

"Riiight," Stefan agrees reluctantly, "Will you and Bonnie come together?"

"What the he—" Damon starts, flustered by the sudden question. He is about to ask him, _indignantly_ , how dare he ask something so crude and vilify their beautiful friendship when he realizes what Stefan was actually asking and stops mid-sentence.

"To the movies…" his brother explains, puzzled by his reaction "Will she come with you? You know her car is at the garage."

"Yeah, sure," he nods. "I can't wait to take her," rushing to add "to the movies." His brain jumped to a different scenario altogether, and he speaks aloud just to correct the course of his thoughts. That only perplexes Stefan more.

"Okay," his brother replies, leaving the room, clearly confused.

Well, that makes two of them, Damon thinks rubbing one hand over his face.

#

 _They traveled silently, sitting next to each other in a luxurious car with tinted glass which she lowered just a few inches to take a peek at the majestic building once they entered Palace Embankment, the street along Neva River in Central Saint Petersburg. She smiled unknowingly looking up at the complex of six buildings which composed the Hermitage museum, painted in white and Tiffany blue._

" _It's beautiful," she breathed out, more to herself then to anyone else, in awe in front of such an impressive place._

" _It was ocra before," Damon explained, his voice unobtrusive as he spoke from where he was sitting, looking at her petite frame tilted forward to drink in the magnificent sight._

" _And terracotta before that," she added, looking back over her shoulder. The enthusiasm of being there made her forget her embarrassment and all the reasons that should have kept her holed up inside her hotel room. His mouth curved in a grin as he realized she wasn't ignorant of the history of the Palace._

 _They got out of the car, closing the door on the last seconds of the piece playing on the radio, Tosca Fantasy performed by Edvin Marton, and walked the concrete courtyard side by side, each of them with gloved hands sunk into the pockets of their coats._

 _Damon was wearing a black turtleneck sweater and his black double-breasted Balmain coat stopped right above his knee. He looked like he hadn't even bothered fixing his hair, sporting that rough out-of-bed look that threatened to make her think about moments she didn't want to remember. Bonnie had noticed that he tended to wear black whenever he wanted to go unnoticed, blend into the crowd, but he only managed to make his beauty more stark, his eyes more distracting._

"Welcome to my world!" Bonnie cries out instinctively, like she feels _relieved_ that someone could finally understand what a pain in the ass it could be to always be subjected to such an offensively perfect face, only to go silent and regretful of having admitted it out loud.

She likes to pretend she doesn't see girls and women of every age turning their heads whenever _Damon_ passes them by. She likes to pretend she doesn't see the reason for their interest. She's so good at pretending sometimes she _forgets_ , then he does something stupid like pushing back a strand of hair or look at her with his particular brand of tenderness and it hits her right in the face, the inhuman _, tormenting_ ways he can be so beautiful.

Right now, she's going to brush her own admission off, will go back to pretending, until she has another wake-up moment, and then go back to repeat the cycle again.

 _She was wearing an oversized grey coat she had managed to find in a box she hadn't opened in a few years, and a long scarf repeatedly wrapped around her neck, so that she could hide her frozen nose behind it. The combination was not so bad. It was practical considering she hadn't expected the trip to east Europe in her foreseeable future. The only problem was the shoes. Everywhere they went the pavement was covered in ice and she feared she would land on her face any moment._

 _Bonnie stopped in line, in front of the dark gates of the Winter Palace, but Damon just grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her along._

" _Mr. Spada," she called in the most shushed voice, to not draw any more attention to them, and followed him, eyes constantly falling on the leather gloved hand wrapped around her wrist, until he let it go, once inside._

" _I've contacted a friend. They'll make it so that we can go around in peace," he said, slipping his hands back inside the pockets of his coat._

" _I thought you had never seen this place before," she replied, guarded. She was starting to fear he was trying to manipulate her and it made her a little sick to her stomach._

" _I never said that," he answered. "Last time I tried to visit the museum I got recognized and I had to leave barely half an hour after I set foot inside, so I wanted to give it another try." She nodded, appeased by his explanation, and tried to keep up with his long steps. It was silly on her part to think that he wanted to manipulate her. Damon Spada could have anything he wanted with a snap of his fingers. He couldn't possibly want anything from her that he couldn't obtain more easily from someone else._

 _He wasn't going out of his way to talk to her, wasn't trying to charm her in any way, wasn't even_ talking _to her and that made her feel more at ease. He just slowed down occasionally in front of a half-bust so that she didn't get left behind, never moving his eyes from the sculpture so that she didn't know if he was enraptured by the art or if he was being kind to her. She didn't really need to know._

 _Even the golden décor of the walls were luminous thanks to the light coming from the large windows above and the wall lamps. The main staircase was covered by a red carpet and he stood on top of it, the marble-like skin and chiseled jaw line made him look like the perfect central piece of a collection. Damon looked imposing and terrible in his allure, so much so that her step became heavy all of a sudden and she felt like she could barely move. But just like that he turned and walked on along the Jordan staircase to go to the second floor._

" _This was the staircase used by the Royal family during the feast of Epiphany in order to get to the Neva River where a hole in the shape of a cross was cut in the ice for the consecration of water," she said in a dreamy voice as she looked up at the dark columns that supported a ceiling entirely covered with a painting._

 _He probably knew all that already, but he did not interrupt her as she explained, letting her share the experience on her own terms. She turned herself, like in a waltz, as she tried to take in all the beauty around her, but it was impossible. The collection of the museum was composed by 3 million works of art from the Stone Age to the latest century, about 350 exhibitions along 22 kilometers and it had been estimated that by spending one minute in front of every painting a man could spend eight years in the museum, so after almost five hours she nodded at Damon's suggestion they should head out._

 _The joy at being there, inside the palace, had somehow dulled the pain at the soles of her feet, but now as the novelty died down the pain was evident, and she had to slow her pace. Damon did the same, walking closer at her side but still talking very little. First the excitement for the visit to the museum, then the tiredness, had made embarrassment be forgotten; so his presence, and the way his elbow brushed against her arm now and then didn't feel bad. They actually managed to share a nice companionship for the whole day and when, inside the car, he smiled at the rumbling of her stomach, his proposal to grab a bite before calling it a day met silence because, he realized, turning towards her, she had fallen asleep._

 _#_

Bonnie has probably woken up by now, Damon thinks, taking a fast peek at the clock on the nightstand, and she's probably heading for her morning run. There is a dull, slow tension building in his lower stomach, coiling there promising him an erection that will require a cold shower the moment his brain conjures up her cheeks reddened by the morning jog, her labored breath and her skin-tight leggings as she takes the stairs with fast little jumps that highlight the toned body which pleasure she neglects.

Suddenly, because of a stupid book, with a stupid story, he got slapped in the face with the fact that _Bonnie_ – the leading lady of the novel and the leading lady of his life as it got mixed up at some point – is a sexual creature too, that for how timid she might be with her carnal desires she is made of fire burning too bright to ever leave that side of her cold, and now he doesn't know how to unlearn this simple fact.

It makes him feel a first-class pervert to wonder what she's like in her intimate moments, what kind of lover can push her buttons, and though he tries not to think about that, there is a little voice in the back of his head that sometimes, when he's silently reading, is too clear to be ignored. Being a killer? All fine and dandy. Attacking people behind his girlfriend's back? He's good like that. Having impure thoughts about his best friend? He feels _guilty_.

And guilt leads to pancakes. And a sugar-free berry smoothie. And apple bread. And Italian coffee.

"Do you have something to atone for?" she asks, pulling one earphone from her ear and appearing on the kitchen's threshold. He's drawing a smiling face with whipped cream, and the moment he looks up at her his finger slips and a hefty white squirt erupts from the tip of the nozzle, dirtying the countertop.

She just blinks twice, cheeks reddened by the exercise, breast rising and falling with her fatigued breath. From her earphone he can hear the words of a song ( _Wait a minute let me take you there_ )

"Fuck," he mutters, turning around to get a dish towel and clean up the mess.

"I should have run way more," she comments, as she steps inside the kitchen and bends over the table to take in the smell of all that he has prepared for their breakfast. She makes a happy _mmm-mmm_ sound as he tries not to stare at the curve of her breast, on display inside her loose tank top in such position.

She didn't even want to go jogging this morning, but she had some tension to unload and running seemed like the healthiest option. So she ran a longer distance than usual, and tried to clear her mind, find her centre, all that stuff people that use sport like a life philosophy talk about. And maybe, after letting off some steam, reading wouldn't be so captivating, so dangerous.

"Do I have time for a shower?" she asks, straightening up as he keeps on rubbing the same spot on the counter, over and over.

He just nods, and she frowns at his attitude.

"Something's wrong?" she asks, her hands on the verge of the countertop as she cocks her head to the side to study his face. She looks away almost immediately – his out-of-bed hair awakens some kind of craving that she's not sure food can satisfy – as her mouth waters, and she fakes distraction as she looks at what he has prepared.

"Just waiting for you to properly appreciate all my efforts and capabilities." Their eyes meet and he just prays his capabilities reference will go unnoticed because it just _came out_ like that. "Instead, you come here, allude to a less than stellar moral behavior on my part—"

"How can I?" she asks, mocking him.

"—and ignore me," he finishes.

Bonnie just rolls her eyes at that. "Poor you, underestimated and underappreciated," she says bringing both her hands to her breast, like her heart is hurting for him.

"You are childish and needy," Bonnie states with a tiny, devilish grin, like she's just found the key to downgrading him from forbidden fantasy to babysitting duty.

"And that is all part of my charm," Damon replies, leaning towards her. His arms look like two bars of a tempting, unbreakable cage as he keeps his hands open on the countertop. His voice sounds heated, earthy, and her naked legs tremble in response, something she readily ascribes to her morning jog.

Her tone is almost robotic as she says, "I need a shower," and turns away leaving him to stare at her. Her round ass looks very agreeable in the black and green shorts she's worn to run, and her toned legs take her away when all he wants to do is study the details of her smooth skin and the way her attire covers her mounds just so.

Damon shuts his eyes brutally, grimacing at his thoughts, and at the way his blood starts driving south so fast he's contemplating slicing himself open just to interrupt the flow.

"Fuck," he mutters, again.

 **Note:** the song Bonnie was listening to when she came back from her morning jog is " _Bang Bang_ " by Jessie J, Ariana Grande and Nicki Minaj.


End file.
